


The Ice Within

by AzimuthZero



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Post-Frozen (2013), main plot happens 21 years after Frozen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 117,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21932983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzimuthZero/pseuds/AzimuthZero
Summary: A Snow Queen bears a son.A thwarted Duke seeks an end to sorcery.A treacherous King sees the opportunity of a lifetime.A disgraced Prince tries to escape his past.Caught in the middle of it all, Crown Prince Thomas of Arendelle must learn to control his powers and find his way in an uncertain world where the storms of the past have returned with a vengeance.
Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Elsa/OC
Kudos: 19





	1. The Crown Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by me

All was quiet in the Kingdom of Arendelle. The streets were empty, the dwellings silent, the shops and stores all having closed for the night. Excepting a few pubs and hotels that still bustled with the awake, the kingdom steeped in the deep silence of slumber.

But on this particular night, the calm was broken. All through the vast corridors of the castle of Arendelle echoed a woman’s shrill, laboured cries. The Queen was giving birth. In the royal bedchamber, Queen Elsa of Arendelle writhed in the throes of labour, the bed frame beneath her trembling from her exertion. At her side kneeled her husband; a midwife was bent intently at the foot of the bed.

 _Nothing is ever easy with Elsa_ , thought King Henrik, with no small degree of fondness.

From the beginning of their courtship, the Queen had always been… difficult. Indeed, it had taken a full three months even for formalities to be dropped between the two, and a full three _years_ before Elsa had conceded to marriage.

The King was snapped from his reverie by yet another blood-curdling scream from his wife. Gripping Elsa’s hand in his own, he whispered words of comfort to the Queen as she endured contraction after contraction. The bedpost over which Elsa’s other hand was fiercely clenched crackled and groaned as tendrils of frost etched patterns onto the wood. The King mentally praised his wife for her astonishing control even in such a situation. A full-blown blizzard would have been expected given the Queen’s condition, but Elsa had managed to keep her powers in check throughout the ordeal.

Thinking back, Henrik had never feared Elsa’s abilities. Where others saw a frigid darkness, he had seen strength and power; where others saw a wicked sorceress, he had seen an artist with unparalleled beauty and love. Her platinum blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, and cool alabaster skin captivated the former prince the instant he laid eyes on her, and while others had been wary of the “Snow Queen”, Elsa’s powers had only added to Henrik’s infatuation. In time, their relationship had blossomed into romance.

Reminiscing his courtship of the Queen, King Henrik stood vigil at the bedside as Elsa laboured on through the night.

The crack of dawn was heralded by the faint cries of a newborn child. After wrapping the baby in a blanket, the midwife handed the precious bundle to the triumphant royals.

“It’s a boy, Majesties”.

Elsa took the child almost reverently into her arms, smiling tentatively down upon her son.

“I did it”. Elsa’s voice shook with fatigue.

“I never had a doubt in my mind,” said Henrik, though his own smile shone with gratitude.

There was a long pause. Elsa sighed.

“I never thought this moment would come”.

At this, Elsa’s voice trembled with more than just tiredness. “I’d resigned myself to a life of solitude as a child, and yet Here I am, a mother. If only my parents could see me now.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” whispered the King. “And as long as I live, you will never be alone”.

Another pause. “What shall we name him?”

Henrik mused over the question, fingers stroking his short beard.

“Thomas, after my grandfather. He was a wise man. A good man.”

“Thomas”.

The Queen smiled, testing the name on her tongue. “Prince Thomas of Arendelle”.

Not two seconds after the statement had left her lips, Elsa heard an all too familiar squeal from behind the doors of the bedchamber. Henrik and the midwife also turned towards the doors, knowing all too well the source of the noise. Within a heartbeat, in burst Princess Anna, her husband Kristoff in tow.

“Congratulations Elsa! You’re a mother!” exclaimed the exuberant redhead, beaming as she practically flew towards her older sister. “Ha! I told you it was going to be a boy!”

The royal couple smiled at the energetic woman.

“Presenting his Royal Highness, Crown Prince Thomas of Arendelle!” proclaimed Henrik a pompous official voice, gesturing grandly at the baby nestled in the crook of Elsa’s arm.

As if noticing him for the first time, Anna stared at her nephew in awe.

“Wow, is this the baby prince? He’s so _small!_ So precious!” Clapping her hands with barely controlled glee, the bouncing younger sister held her arms out towards the Queen. “Lemme hold him!”

Elsa turned her body away from Anna, protectively shielding her child with an arm. “Promise you won’t drop him?” she asked, icily.

Anna gasped, placing a hand over her heart for dramatic effect. “ _Elsa!_ I’m hurt! I have two children of my own you know! I should know how to hold a baby!”

“Actually, I should have you know that I held the children for the most part,” muttered Kristoff from out in the hallway

“You’re not helping!” called Anna, shooting a pointed glare at her husband.

“Alright, alright, I’ll have to let you hold him eventually anyway”, Elsa relented, a hint of humor in her voice. She gingerly handed the baby to her sister.

“Ooh, look at you!” Anna cooed, tickling the baby’s stomach. At that, the child opened its eyes and fixed Anna with a surprisingly piercing slate-gray stare. “Hi little guy! I’m your aunt Anna! We’re gonna have lots of fun together, you and I!”

Elsa snorted. “What, are your two children not enough?”

Anna stuck her tongue at her sister. “I’ll have you know that it’s not becoming of a lady to snort.”

Walking over to Henrik, she held up the child for him to see.

“Look! He has your eyes!”

“He does!” smiled the King, taking his son into his arms.

“Hmm… I wonder what colour _hair_ he’ll have,” Anna mused.

At that moment, the door handle turned again to reveal two young children and a familiar snowman.

“Annabeth, Christopher! I told you to wait outside!”

The midwife, who had remained silent throughout the entire conversation, finally spoke up.

“Highnesses, I think it would be best for you to continue this another time. The Queen is, after all, very tired from her ordeal.”

“Truly”, said Elsa, as she adjusted herself into a position better suited for sleeping.

Kristoff stepped in the door, scooping up both his children, one in each arm.

“Alright, Aunt Elsa needs her rest.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for keeping you up!” Anna apologized, as she began to follow her husband out the door.

Elsa laughed tiredly. “Ah, it’s quite alright. Although, how you endured this _twice_ is beyond me…”

And with that, the Queen closed her eyes.

* * *

Elsa awoke to darkness. Looking about the bedchamber, she found it empty and silent. It was then that the reality hit her anew. She was a mother. The Queen closed her eyes again, savouring the feeling. Ever since that fateful night on their honeymoon, she had known this day would come, but now it was so much more genuine.

She was a mother.

The sound of the door handle brought Elsa back to earth.

“Is she awake?”

Henrik’s voice. Elsa raised her head above the cushions.

“It would appear so,” said another familiar voice, and in walked the King and the royal family’s most trusted servant, Kai.

“How are you feeling?” asked Henrik.

“Tired, but well-rested”, Elsa smiled back.

“Your Majesty, pardon the interruption, but the physician insisted on performing a physical examination to ensure your wellness.” Kai stepped aside to reveal an older man at the door.

“Your Majesty, Physician Simone Wellingdon at your service.” The physician bowed low. “Your health is of the utmost importance, this simply couldn’t wait.”

The Queen focused her eyes upon the petite man.

“Never mind me, what about Thomas? Is he well?”

“Ah, yes, I’d examined him yesterday. A beacon of good health, I assure you.” The physician began polishing his spectacles.

“Wait, yesterday?” Elsa considered the man’s words. “Henrik, how long was I asleep for?”

“It is now midnight of the next day, love,” said the King, gesturing to the small grandfather clock on the wall. As if the accentuate the fact, the faraway Church bells tolled twelve times.

At this, Elsa was no longer so calm.

“I’ve been asleep for the whole _day?!”_ Her hands flew to her hair. “Oh, I’m so behind! I’ve missed my meeting with the Duchess of Withertine, and there’s still the matter of those trade documents for Corona that need done!”

This was accompanied by a noticeable drop in temperature, and frost began to creep up the walls.

Suddenly, a hand had taken the Queen’s.

“Elsa, calm. Everything has been taken care of. I’m more than capable of running the Kingdom for a day you know,” Henrik soothed. “You work yourself far too hard as it is, and you’ve the most legitimate reason any woman could possibly have for taking some time off.”

“Ahem, speaking of which...”

All heads turned to the physician.

“I should probably get Her Majesty’s physical examination underway.” The man donned his spectacles, motioning for the door to be closed.

A short ten minutes later, the Queen was dressed in a clean silken nightgown and was situated back in her bed. The physician opened the bedchamber door, handing Elsa’s old clothes in a bundle to Kai.

“Take these to be laundered.”

The aged servant bowed and left the bedchamber.

“So, doctor, what is the verdict?” asked Henrik, concern showing on his face.

“Her Majesty is making a quick recovery from her recent childbirth.”

The physician folded his spectacles and placed them in his breast pocket. “All seems to be in good order… well, excepting the, ah, usual anomalies.”

“Excuse me?” Elsa narrowed her eyes slightly.

The older man cleared his throat.

“Ah, body temperature, Majesty?” It was more of a question than a statement.

Elsa frowned, remembering times in a darker past when she had been under the scrutiny of so many other physicians. The Snow Queen exhaled.

“Very well, you are dismissed.”

The physician bowed respectfully and took his leave.

Elsa slumped back into the bed, sharing a weary smile with Henrik. As the King’s fingers entwined with her own, her eyelids drew shut despite her best efforts.

* * *

Alas, there was little family time to be had the next day. As was tradition for a royal birth, an official proclamation was scheduled—a chance for the people of Arendelle to catch a glimpse of the heir to the crown and throne.

Indeed, the day was truly a busy one. Invitations were sent to all four corners of the Kingdom of Arendelle, the courtyard readied for the arrival of the people. The Queen, with no small measure of guilt, left her son in the care of the maids and her sister for most of the day.

“Aren’t we lucky to still have a few nursemaids around?” Anna asked happily.

The sigh slipped between Elsa’s lips on its own accord. “Anna, I’d hired a new group a month ago! Did you seriously think I was unprepared?”

Due to the Open Gates policy, the courtyard was packed hours before the great reveal. The citizens were all very excited, gossiping about the new addition to the royal family, and the possibilities he provided for the future of the kingdom.

Minutes from the proclamation, the royal family stood ready behind the closed doors of the balcony. Henrik cradled the little prince in his arms, unable to resist tickling the boy under his chin every once in a while. Elsa stood at her husband’s side, back ramrod straight, both hands clasped regally before her. Anna and Kristoff were behind them, their two children running gleefully about the room, chasing the snowflakes falling from a cloud above the head of a very lively snowman. Kai was also present, ready to announce the royals as they stepped out onto the balcony. Outside, two royal trumpets flanked the closed doors.

Alas, even after seven years of the people’s acceptance, the Queen still was not as at ease about public events as she wished to be. It was at moments such as these that the scared little girl threatened to resurface; the part of Elsa that wanted to run back to her room, lock the door, and shut out the world.

“Conceal, don’t feel,” she muttered under her breath.

A hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

“No, Elsa,” Anna’s calm eyes locked with her sister’s. She slid her hand down Elsa’s arm, grabbing hold of the Queen’s hand with her own.

“Never again.”

Elsa gave her sister a grateful smile.

The Church bells tolled. Everyone snapped to attention, taking their positions as the trumpets blew a grand fanfare. Kai opened the doors. Walking out onto the balcony, the servant began announcing the royal family in its entirety.

“ _Presenting Her Majesty the Queen Regnant, Elsa of Arendelle!_ ”

Elsa took a deep breath and walked forward, forcing herself to take smooth, reserved steps, looking every inch the sovereign she was.

“ _Princess Anna of Arendelle!_ ”

Anna bounced forward with much less restraint, a wide grin practically shining from her features.

“ _Prince-Consort Kristoff Bjorgman!_ ”

With a sheepish smile on his face, Kristoff stepped up to join his wife.  
“ _Prince Christopher Bjorgman and Princess Annabeth Bjorgman!_ ”

The children bounced onto the balcony, Olaf in tow.

“ _King-Consort Henrik Ingouf of Arendelle! And last, but certainly not least, Crown Prince Thomas of Arendelle!_ ”

The King stepped onto the balcony, cradling the newborn heir. This time, the trumpets were accompanied by the cheers and applause of the audience.

When the crowd had settled down, the King stepped forward and began his spiel.

“People of Arendelle! We are gathered here today for a truly momentous occasion! The Queen has born a child! Behold, the heir to the throne, Crown Prince Thomas of Arendelle!”

Henrik passed Thomas gingerly to Elsa, who cradled the baby before the balcony. The little prince looked mutely upon the cheering crowd, dumbfounded by the noise of it all. With a stamp of Elsa’s foot, glittering flurries of snow fell upon the courtyard. Annabeth and Christopher jumped about, giggling as they caught snowflakes on their hands and tongues. Anna and Kristoff shared an excited smile.

Unbeknownst to all, a single snowflake fluttered from Thomas’ open palm.


	2. Fractals in Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “Prophecy”  
> [Christophe Beck – “Royal Pursuit” ( _Frozen_ OST)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=diapcRxAbZM)

As little Tom grew, so did his presence in Arendelle Castle. From week one, the boy proved himself to be a quiet baby, hardly ever crying unless to notify his caretakers of his hunger—or that he had soiled himself. Anna and Kristoff’s children quickly formed a bond with the little prince, and the two would often be found by the royal crib, talking animatedly to the ever silent baby. Olaf would accompany the trio most of the time, as jolly and energetic as ever.

At week four, Thomas began to grow more restless, tossing and turning in the crib, sometimes crying for no apparent reason. Elsa began to spend nights with her child, drawing glowing patterns of snow and frost to lull the baby to sleep. It was on one such night that the Queen, while focussing on a particularly detailed snowflake, heard a gurgle from Thomas in the crib. It was thus that the little prince learned to laugh.

Week ten, and Thomas had begun to grow a mop of startling platinum-blonde hair. Although the King and Queen were pleased at the child’s development, Anna was not.

“What respectable man has _platinum-blonde_ hair?” she exclaimed. “It looks silly!”

To prove her point, the younger sister took one of Henrik’s portraits and painted the King’s dark brown hair what _she_ thought was a good impression of platinum-blonde. Unfortunately, the princess was not renowned for her artistic talent. Naturally, Anna was very pleased with herself when she managed to sneak into the royal bedchamber without waking the Queen and place the doctored portrait in front of the mirror. She was notably less pleased when she discovered her mattress frozen solid the night after.

Five months after birth, little Thomas began enunciating. Although it started with unimpressive gurgling and squealing, within two weeks the baby had learned the magic word.

“Muh….ma….ma….mama!”

Elsa pronounced it the happiest moment of her life, while a sullen Henrik grumbled about how “the mother always gets the recognition.”

By the seventh month, the child was no longer satisfied with the confines of his room. At the utter fascination of Annabeth, Christopher, and Olaf, Thomas began to learn to crawl. From the first tentative “steps”, Thomas had the most avid teachers imaginable. Anna and Kristoff would often find their children down on their hands and knees, teaching the crown prince the fine intricacies of quadrupedal locomotion. When he finally did learn to crawl with proficiency, the little prince took to roaming the halls with Annabeth and Christopher, accompanying them as far as his limbs could hold out.

It was in his tenth month, however, that little Tom made his most monumental development of all.

* * *

It was a hot summer’s day. The Queen and King were engaged in a diplomatic meeting with yet _another_ ambassador from Weselton, leaving Thomas in the care of Anna and Kristoff. With Elsa too busy to play and Olaf nowhere in sight, the children quickly grew quite irritable.

“Mama! Too hot!” moaned Christopher from his position on the hardwood floor.

“I’m gonna melt like… like daddy’s ice!” Annabeth slumped into the rocking chair in the corner. Kristoff raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

“I’m all sold out, I got none to spare! And no wonder in this heat…”

Anna was feeling rather sweaty and uncomfortable herself.

“Oh, it almost makes Elsa’s Great Freeze seem like a paradise! All that cool ice and snow… I’ll bet my sister’s not even bothered by the heat!” And with that, she launched into a monologue detailing how unfair it was that her sister had ice powers while Anna was stuck in the sweltering heat with nothing but her sweat to cool her.

Throughout the whole exchange, little Tom was seated in the centre of the floor, contently playing with several wooden blocks. Had anyone taken notice of the little prince, they would have been surprised to see not a single bead of sweat upon the boy’s skin. Had they moved in closer to the child, they would have been even more surprised to discover how cold the air was around him. Alas, aunt, uncle, and cousins paid little attention to Thomas due to their own discomfort.

Finally, Anna could take no more.

“Alright! I can’t stand this heat a moment longer! Kristoff, get Sven hooked to the carriage. We’re going to the Wading Pool. Right now. Right this second.”

A few minutes later, a reindeer pulling a small carriage cantered through the streets of Arendelle. Kristoff, guiding Sven, took the familiar mountain path into the forest. Through the forest flowed a stream, carrying meltwater from the high peaks above. The stream in question was a playful, lively thing, bubbling over its bed of rocks with fervor and apparent delight. At one point, not far from the path, the stream flowed into a shallow depression in the rocky landscape, forming a small pond. This pond Anna had dubbed the “Wading Pool”, and the royal family often took their children up here to play in the water. The pool was five metres at its widest point, and had a maximum depth of one, and thus presented little danger even to the young children.

Stopping the carriage, Kristoff helped his wife, children, and nephew disembark. Anna and her kids ran gleefully to the pool, jumping in and immediately commencing to splash each other with the cold, pure water. Kristoff sat on a slab of rock beside the pool, holding Thomas in his arms.

“You can’t even walk yet Tom,” he said apologetically. “Another year, and maybe you’ll be able to join them.” The mountain man smiled at his nephew. “Besides, you’re Elsa’s son. The heat shouldn’t bother you.”

But Thomas wasn’t about to let Annabeth and Christopher have fun without him. Wriggling in Kristoff’s grasp, the child exclaimed over and over.

“Play! Play!”

Kristoff groaned. “Thomas, you’re too young! And plus, if you get hurt, your mom will freeze me in an ice cube for a week!”

But Thomas would have none of it. Kristoff’s hands were suddenly cold. Freezing cold. Dropping his nephew with a gasp, he rubbed his hands together, hissing from the pain.

“Ow!” he exclaimed.

Looking over, Kristoff saw Thomas speedily crawling towards the pool, where his cousins still played, oblivious.

“Thomas, no!” Kristoff yelled. “Anna, help!”

Anna turned, surprise written on her face.

“Kristoff? What’s wrong?”

Her husband lunged for his nephew, but it was too late. With a little squeak of fear, the little prince slipped off a rocky precipice and tumbled into the pool. Only, he never hit the surface.

There was a flash. A crackling sound. A gust of frigid wind. And suddenly Thomas was sliding across the now _frozen_ surface of the pool, his face an almost comical mask of shock.

The silence was broken by a cacophony of screams.

“Cold! Cold!”

“Stuck!”

“Ahhhh! Help, Kristoff, _help_!”

Kristoff turned to find Anna and his children stuck fast in solid ice up to their waists.

“Hang on, I’m coming!” he hollered. Sprinting to the pool, Kristoff swiftly scooped up Thomas. The boy offered no resistance as was carried back to the carriage and practically thrown into the back seat.

“Where is it, where _is it?!_ ”

Frantically pawing through the bundle of emergency supplies, Kristoff finally came across what he was looking for.

“Aha!” he triumphantly yelled, a flint and steel his hand. With his other, Kristoff grabbed a torch, peeling back out towards the pool at a full sprint.

The situation was beginning to turn dire. Even in the summer heat, Anna was shivering profusely, her lips an unhealthy blue tinge. Kristoff was bitterly reminded of when Elsa had frozen her heart that fateful day years ago. With renewed ferocity, he smashed the flint and steel together above the unlit torch.

“C’mon, _c’mon!_ Light!”

Finally, the sparks caught. Kristoff quickly held the torch as close to his wife’s legs as he dared, the open flames vaporizing the ice on contact. After melting a sufficient amount of the ice as to allow Anna to free herself, the mountain man turned to his children. Annabeth was unsuccessfully trying to pull her legs out of the pond with her arms, while Christopher simply stood there and shivered, his breath coming forth in ragged gasps.

“Hold on Annabeth, I’ve got to free your brother first!” Without waiting for a reply, Kristoff quickly went to work on his son’s legs.

“That’s it, Daddy’s got you!”

“C-c-cold” Christopher moaned.

Kristoff pulled his son out of the frozen pool, setting him down on the shore.

“Stay here with Mama and get warm. Daddy’s gotta help your sister.”

With the help of the torch, it wasn’t long before the final victim was freed from the pool’s icy grasp. As the family lay on the slabs of stone surrounding the pool, rubbing feeling back into their limbs, they were suddenly very grateful for the blazing sun. After a breathless pause, Anna asked the inevitable question.

“What happened?”

Kristoff rubbed the back of his head, an expression of confusion and worry upon his face.

“I was just trying to save Tom from falling in, and then… this.”

He gestured to the expanse of frozen water before them. When he received no response, Kristoff looked over at his wife, only to see an expression of excitement on her face, a gleam in her eyes.

“Kristoff, don’t you see? This can only mean one thing!” Anna suddenly grabbed his arm. “Where’s Tom?”

Opening the door to the carriage, the couple felt icy shock and cold air wash over them. On the red leather seat sat the little prince, confusion and wonder evident on his features as tendrils of frost spread outwards from his body, covering the seat in delicate sparkling swirls.

“Oh,” said Kristoff. He and Anna looked to each other.

“Elsa,” they said in unison.

* * *

“Your Majesty, I beg you to reconsider!”

After two whole hours of negotiation, the flustered ambassador from Weselton had made little progress against the Queen’s cold determination.

“Your cries fall upon deaf ears, ambassador.”

Elsa levelled her gaze at the smarmy man, icy eyes piercing in their intensity. “I have made it abundantly clear that the will be no negotiation of trade re-establishment until a new Duke is appointed!” The Queen leaned forward ever so slightly. “The current Duke tried to have me assassinated. I will not let go of that fact lightly.” An arctic wind blew through the room at that statement.

The ambassador was quite on edge now. “What of the King? Why is he not present? I should like to hear his opinions on the matter!” His voice cracked on the last word.

“The King was present but an hour ago! Given that you did not make a single step of progress with him, I highly doubt his current presence would change matters.” Elsa restrained herself from rolling her eyes. The man was truly getting desperate. “Do you have any further arguments or proposals?”

The ambassador licked his lips nervously. “Your Majesty…”

“Are there any further proposals, ambassador.” It was a statement, not a question.

The man looked downwards in shame. “No, Majesty.”

Elsa stood. “Then my answer is no. Meeting adjourned!” The Queen slammed the trade documents on the table with finality.

* * *

Kristoff urged Sven to a sprint, the carriage cannoning down the mountain path at a frightening pace. Inside, the family looked in silence upon the crown prince. Finally, Annabeth broke the tension.

“Tom has… powers? Like Auntie Elsa?”

Thomas perked up at the name. “Mama!” he exclaimed.

“Tom is Elsa’s son,” Anna mused, eyes deep in thought. “She must have passed her powers on to him! I knew there was something strange going on with Tom’s hair…”

The little prince in question had started intently gnawing on a wooden block, oblivious to the conversation.

“Hey, cut that out!” Anna laughed, trying unsuccessfully to remove the toy from Thomas’s hands.

Christopher was still sullen from the icy incident that ruined his day. “Why Tom have powers _now?_ ” he grumbled.

Anna moved to hold her son, contemplating the thought. “Well, we don’t know when Elsa’s powers started showing, either. So, maybe it only shows up at a certain age?”

Christopher still wasn’t satisfied.

“Mama, what are we gonna _do?_ ”

Anna looked into her son’s eyes, straightening her back with determination.

“I’m going to talk to my sister.”

* * *

The Queen stalked through the halls of the castle, casting a chill upon her surroundings. Frost formed at her feet; flowers wilted in their vases at the sudden cold.

 _Why won’t that damned Duke stop pestering me?_ she grumbled internally. _He should have known the consequences of an attempted assassination! And yet he still thinks I’ll repeal my ban._

Walking into the royal study, Elsa slammed the door shut. Sweeping across the room, she all but threw herself upon her desk. She sighed, eyeing the neat stacks of documents, letters, and proposals wearily.

She could not deny herself the real reason behind her frustration. Every ambassador from Weselton, every peace treaty from the Southern Isles, even every confirmation of Prince Hans’ continuing prison sentence was a cold, painful reminder of her mistakes.

_The Great Freeze._

“Christmas in July,” some of the more optimistic had since dubbed it, but most still called it by its more sinister name.

_If only they knew how easily it could return…_

Elsa shook her head.

 _No_.

She was in control now. She had Anna, she had Henrik, and now she had Thomas.

_Love will thaw. The past is in the past._

Opening her eyes, the Queen picked up her fountain pen and began working through the mountain of parchment before her.

* * *

“Excuse me! Coming through!”

Townspeople turned their heads in confusion toward the sound of the voice to find a panting reindeer and a small carriage thundering through the Arendellian streets. Kristoff patted Sven’s heaving flank.

“Just a bit more, buddy! To the castle!”

The guards hastily opened the gates upon spotting the carriage, holding on to their shakos with expressions of surprise as the reindeer careened between them, missing impact by a hair’s breadth. Kristoff pulled hard on the reins, slowing his sweating companion to a stop in the courtyard. Anna and the children quickly disembarked, Thomas cradled in his aunt’s arms.

Within moments, Kai and Gerda had rushed from the castle gates to receive the entourage.

“Your Highnesses, you look awfully rushed! What seems to be the matter?”

There was a tinge of worry in Gerda’s voice.

It was Anna who spoke first. “We need to speak to Elsa immediately!”

Kai folded his arms in front of him. “Her Majesty is very busy at the moment! What is the situation?”

“It’s Thomas. He seems to have ice powers!” explained Kristoff.

Kai’s forehead wrinkled in shock.

“Right this way then!”

The head servant scurried off through the halls, Anna hot on his heels with Thomas in her arms.

Kai slowed to a halt in front of the closed study door, taking a few deep breaths.

“I’m not as spry as I once was,” the servant grumbled as he turned the ornate brass handle.

* * *

_Snow Queen,_

_The Kingdom of Bray sends its kindest regards. We are a small, peaceable nation, and we offer you our hand in alliance and trade. We believe that such an agreement would be mutually beneficial, and as such, we will be sending an emissary to Arendelle in hopes of reaching a diplomatic accord with you. The ship should arrive within a fortnight._

_His Highness,_

_King Victar of Bray_

Elsa supported her head in her palm. Such matters as this should rightfully have been addressed to the Kingdom as an entity. The fact that the letter was sent to pointedly to her, the _Snow Queen_ , spoke a very clear message. Even after half a decade of peace with Elsa constantly expressing her aversion toward involving her powers in conflict of any sort, nations still feared her. That fear could easily turn to more drastic actions: another assassination attempt, or worse.

Elsa sighed. As a child, Grand Pabbie had warned that fear would be her enemy. It seemed the prophecy was still taking its methodical course.

The sound of the study door opening snapped her back to reality. Elsa turned her gaze in the direction of the noise.

“Your Majesty,” began Kai, his face carefully devoid of emotion. However, the servant’s flushed cheeks and quickened breath did not go unnoticed by the Queen.

“Kai, is something the matter?”

“Your sister wishes to have a word with you.” There was an urgency to his voice that did not match the statement.

“It’s about Thomas.”

Elsa’s reply died on her lips. Taking care not to freeze anything, she took a deep, calming breath.

“Very well. Let her in, and fetch Henrik!”

The servant bowed respectfully before taking his leave, nearly colliding with Anna on her way in. Elsa practically leapt toward her sister, taking her son and meticulously checking every inch of him for injuries. When she discovered Thomas unblemished, Elsa let out a silent breath of relief. Her son looked up onto her eyes, giggling.

“Mama!”

Turning to her sister, Elsa asked in a cautious tone, “Anna, what’s going on?”

Anna shifted nervously from foot to foot.

“Well, it started like this. It was really hot in the morning, right? So the kids were all moaning about the heat, and so I decided, hey, let’s go up the mountain to the Wading Pool to cool off!”

Elsa was already flabbergasted.

“You _what?!_ Anna, Thomas is way too young to be playing there!”

“Ssh! I know, I’m getting to that! So anyway, we all took Sven’s carriage up the mountain. When we finally got to the place, the kids and I jumped in the pool immediately.”

“Anna, you’re way too _old_ to be playing there.” This time, the Queen’s voice carried a hint of amusement.

The younger sister paused her retelling to stick out her tongue.

“Anyway, Kristoff was looking after Tom by the carriage. But apparently, Tom really wanted to play with Annabeth and Christopher. Somehow, he got away from Kristoff and he fell in the pool...”

Elsa made a mental note to reprimand Kristoff about his slip later on.

“... and the pool _froze solid_. We were all stuck in ice up to our waists! Kristoff had to get a torch in order to free us. And Tom… well, when we got back to the carriage, the whole carriage seat was covered in frost!” By this point, Anna’s eyes were bugging out so much that Elsa feared their departure from her head. “Elsa… I think Thomas has powers!”

At that moment, Henrik burst into the study.

“Where is he? Where is Thomas?”

Elsa quickly moved over to Henrik, handing Thomas to him.

“Papa!” the toddler exclaimed happily.

Instead of calming down as Elsa expected, however, Henrik inhaled in shock.

“He’s ice cold!” he exclaimed.

It was Elsa’s turn for her eyes to bug out.

“What?”

The Queen quickly felt her son’s hands, and then his forehead. Sure enough, Thomas’s skin was freezing. Trembling, she held her hands out in front of her, looking at them in horror.

“Did… did I do this?”

Snow began falling in the study and the temperature suddenly plummeted.

Anna rushed forward.

“No, Elsa! Don’t you see? Thomas is like you! I don’t know why they didn’t show earlier, but he has ice powers like yours!” The younger sister could see that Elsa was still unconvinced. She turned to the little prince in Henrik’s arms.

“Tom, make some snow.”

Thomas simply blinked up at his aunt mutely.

“Aw, come on!” Anna groaned. “I swear he did it earlier…”

Her words were interrupted by the sound of a sneeze. Thomas wiped his nose, looking wide-eyed at the crystals of ice that had suddenly materialized around his head.

“Mama! Snow!” he giggled gleefully. Both parents gasped in shock. For a moment, there was nothing but deafening silence. The snowflakes slowly dissipated in the warm summer air.

“See?” said Anna in triumph.

It was Henrik who recovered first.

“Well, he always did take after you, love,” he whispered, attempting a small smile.

Still a bit dazed, Elsa held her hand in front of her son, palm up, balancing a glowing nimbus of gently drifting snow. Thomas stared at it for a while, then threw up his little arms, giggling in delight as his mother’s snow was drowned out by his own. Elsa laughed, still reeling from the shock of the situation. She turned to her sister with bright eyes.

“Anna, tell Kristoff we’re going to pay his family a visit.”

* * *

It was thus that the royal family found themselves travelling swiftly up the mountain path under the awakening night sky. Due to the fact that there was no carriage large enough to carry them all, the royals rode on horseback—or, in Kristoff’s case, reindeer-back. Even Olaf was there, at his regular position on Sven’s rump, his flurry chugging away above him.

As they neared the geysers that marked the boundaries of the Valley of the Living Rock, the entourage reached a point where their horses refused to travel further. They reared and kicked, screaming as if faced with an invisible barrier. The royal family dismounted one by one.

“Something about the place spooks the horses,” explained Kristoff apologetically from his position on Sven’s back. “The rest of you will have to go on foot from here.”

Olaf gave a sheepish little wave.

“What about Sven? How come he isn’t affected?” Henrik inquired.

Kristoff gave a shrug. “He’s a reindeer, and reindeers aren’t horses,” he said simply.

With a flourish, Elsa summoned a thin pillar of ice from the ground before them, securing their steeds to it by their reins. Anna stood wide-eyed, captivated by the display.

“Guys? Keep up!” Kristoff’s voice drifted back to them through the mists. Elsa laughed and nudged her sister gently forward.

When the group finally reached the centre of the Valley, Kristoff dismounted from Sven and turned to face the rest of the group.

“Well, kids, the last time I took you guys up here, Annabeth was a year old, and you, Christopher, you were still a little baby! So you guys probably don’t remember.” He turned to face the seemingly empty Valley. “Kids, meet my family!”

Kristoff spread his arms wide in a grand gesture of presentation.

Christopher was not impressed. “Daddy! No trolls, just rocks!” the boy pouted.

Anna ruffled her son’s hair, laughing. “That’s what I thought the first time too!”

As if on cue, a particularly large rock by Kristoff’s foot suddenly sprung to life.

“Kristoff’s home!” it exclaimed, and then proceeded to tackle the man to the ground.

“Aw, Ma!” There was a tinge of red to the mountain man’s cheeks.

Henrik chuckled. “So _that’s_ your mother, Bjorgman?”

Kristoff’s reply was drowned out by a deafening noise like a landslide. With a chorus of “Kristoff’s home!” and “He brought the kids!”, all the trolls of the Valley unrolled from their rocky states and leapt upon the family. Elsa and Henrik looked on in amusement as Annabeth and Christopher were quickly encircled by excited trolls, while their parents were literally buried under a pile of Kristoff’s very heavy relatives.

Greetings continued for the better part of ten minutes. The trolls bowed respectfully to the King and Queen, politely inquiring about the health of the new Crown Prince, while on the other side of the Valley, the same trolls leapt upon Anna and Kristoff repeatedly, buoying Annabeth and Christopher on a sea of supporting hands.

Suddenly, from the back of the crowd came an ancient voice.

“Let me through!”

Abruptly, the ruckus died down. The mass of trolls stepped aside in unison to form a path for one particularly worn and wizened specimen. The old troll slowly uncurled, producing a gnarled staff from the folds of his mossy cloak.

“There is an unnatural abundance of elemental magic here tonight,” the troll began in a gravelly voice, looking straight at Elsa. “An abundance that even the Queen’s presence cannot explain entirely.”

Elsa strode forward to meet the old troll, Thomas in her arms.

“The reason for my visit tonight may offer an explanation. Though, admittedly, a family reunion has been long overdue.” Elsa turned briefly to smile at Kristoff, who returned it with a sheepish grin from his position under a mound of troll-children.

In the background, Annabeth grew a bit uneasy.

“Mama? Who’s that?”

Anna patted her daughter’s hair. “That’s Grand Pabbie, dear. He’s a very wise old troll, and he’s gonna help Tom.”

Elsa showed Thomas to Pabbie, Henrik at her side.

“This is our son, Thomas,” she began. “Since birth, he’s been in perfectly good health, with no sign of any elemental magic. Today, he froze a pond and made snow out of thin air.”

“And his skin’s grown ice cold!” Henrik added, his tone tinged with worry.

Grand Pabbie placed the index and middle fingers of his left hand upon the child’s temple, closing his eyes in concentration. When the old troll opened them again, he turned to the monarchs with a reassuring smile.

“Your Majesties, you needn’t worry about little Thomas’s health.” Pabbie focused his gaze at Elsa. “Although this may be unknown to you, Elsa, your own abilities did not begin to manifest until you were a full year old, according to your parents. The same is now happening with your son. The magic is awakening within him. From now on, his powers will only grow stronger, as they continue to do with you. But…” The old troll’s tone grew grave. “I sense something dark as well. There is great conflict in this child’s future.”

Turning to the sky, Pabbie waved his arms, and the auroras coalesced into an image: the figure of a man, dressed in glittering white. Shadows of others crept at the lone figure, their malicious intent obvious in the weapons of murder clutched in their hands. In Elsa’s arms, the real Thomas let out a weak cry of fear. Instinctively, Elsa turned to shield her son from the apparitions.

“Many will fear him for his abilities,” the ancient troll continued. “They may try to hurt him, to remove him from the throne.” In the auroras, the white figure settled into a fighting stance, waving his arms at the shadowy foes. Spikes of ice shot forth, impaling the would-be assassins.

“But Thomas is unlike you, Elsa. Fear will not be his greatest enemy. His greatest enemy will be _hatred_.”

The old troll put his arms back by his sides, the glowing images above him dissipating into the night. Pabbie moved close to the Queen, taking a firm hold of her hand, his eyes deep and soulful.

“Teach him control, yes, teach him courage. But above all else, Elsa, teach the boy forgiveness. Teach him love. Protect him. His path will not be an easy one.”

The auroras faded away, but the Queen and King continued to stare at the sky for a long time afterward.


	3. Snowball Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Inklings"  
> [ Christophe Beck – “Elsa and Anna” ( _Frozen_ OST) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qo2uvrvdiAY)

The next three years of Thomas’s life passed by with blissful ease. The little prince progressed rapidly in speech and comprehension, quickly nearing the level of his older cousins. By his second birthday, Thomas was already able to walk, and it was not long before he learned to run, to the utter delight of Annabeth, Christopher, and Olaf. It was then that the quartet became truly inseparable. They took to roaming the castle together, their childhood joy infectious to onlookers—though it was usually swiftly negated by the shenanigans that erupted in their wake. The cooks quickly came to fear the children’s pillaging hands, and guarding dessert once again became a wearisome and difficult task, as it had not been in the decades since Princess Anna was a child.

Thomas’s powers progressed just as quickly as his other abilities. By age two, they had intensified from light, harmless flurries to sudden flash frosts, which were especially potent when the child was in a bad mood. As the little prince’s powers became more substantial, Elsa took to closely mentoring her son on how to control them. Thankfully, the Queen found no trouble in thawing her son’s handiwork, and so major property damage was avoided for the most part.

From as early as he could comprehend it, Thomas was made aware of the danger his powers presented. Elsa repeatedly told her son the stories of her own childhood, of how she hurt Anna and how she struggled vainly for control in the following years. The little prince had yet to be told of the story of Anna’s frozen heart, however, as Elsa thought it too dark a tale for the young boy as of yet. Nevertheless, Elsa took every opportunity to stress the importance of love; “love will thaw” quickly became her mantra to her son in all aspects of his magic.

Nonetheless, Thomas lead a carefree existence his first four years of life. He lived in the happy ignorance of childhood, his mother’s tales of strife seeming nothing more than fairy tales, with little value apart from the exciting stories they held.

Of course, it was then that the first inklings of real danger began to creep in.

* * *

It was deep winter. Thomas had just celebrated his fifth birthday a short two months ago. The sun was beginning to redden in the late afternoon, reflecting off the freshly fallen snow with gentle light. In the courtyard, four figures frolicked in the winter wonderland.

“Heads up!” Olaf yelled, launching a snowball with surprising strength from his right twig-arm. His intended target feinted to the left, ducking behind one of the frozen fountains for cover. Annabeth giggled as snowballs continued to land around her—Olaf was evidently trying to lob his shots to hit the girl from behind the fountain. Suddenly, with a cry, Christopher made a leap at the snowman from the side, landing a snowball straight in Olaf’s mouth. The snowman in question desperately tried to cough the snow back up, eventually settling with taking off his head and physically shaking the snow out.

Christopher cheered in triumph.

“Anna, Anna! Did you see? I got Olaf in the _mouth_!” The boy jumped up and down in glee.

Annabeth walked tentatively from her sheltered position, only to have a snowball slam into the side of her head not a moment after. She turned and, sure enough, there stood Thomas, another snowball already in hand.

“Ha ha, come get me!” Thomas giggled. His answer came as a hail of snowballs, as the two siblings retaliated against their young cousin. Thomas quickly waved his hand to summon a large snowdrift to hide behind.

“Hey, not fair!” whined Christopher. “Olaf, come help us get Tom!”

The little snowman plopped his head back on his shoulders, still as buoyant as ever.

“OK!” he agreed cheerfully.

The trio split up, predators stalking their elusive prey. Annabeth came from the left, Christopher from the right, and Olaf scaled Thomas’s snowdrift for a three-pronged surprise assault. Only, they met nothing but more snow upon the other side. Before anyone had time to discover his ploy, Thomas sprung from his hiding place within the snowdrift itself, nailing both his cousins with snowballs in quick succession, then literally splitting Olaf into pieces as he flattened the snowdrift with a gesture.

“Guys, a little help?” the snowman’s head groaned as it rolled across the courtyard.

But the excited children paid the snowman no heed, already in hot pursuit of Thomas, who was making a beeline for the stairs up to the castle doors.

“Ugh, I’m all over the place today!” Olaf’s head grumbled, watching helplessly as his abdomen rolled away from him.

* * *

From the balcony high above, Elsa watched the children, smiling at their antics. This was the childhood her son deserved.

_Nobody deserves to be locked away from the world for powers they never asked for..._

At that, Elsa felt a pang of guilt.

 _It wasn’t their fault_ , she reminded herself. Her mind’s eye looked to the portrait of her parents, still hanging on the wall. The black veils had been removed a month after their funeral, but they would never disappear from her memory.

 _They never dared believe that this was possible, that I could use my powers without hurting anyone_.

Unbidden tears welled up, obscuring Elsa’s vision. She wiped them away, looking at the glistening drops on the back of her hand with surprise. She shook them off determinedly. No. She had been done crying a long time ago. The past was in the past.

* * *

Annabeth and Christopher had almost caught up to Thomas with their longer legs, their arms already raised, snowballs locked on target. In his haste to escape, the little prince lost his footing on a patch of ice. Lying dazed in the snow, he was quickly pelted by his cousins.

“This is what you get for using your powers, you cheater!” Annabeth yelled as she and her brother continued to rain snowballs upon Thomas. In the heat of the moment, the siblings failed to notice the little prince’s joyful giggles turn to fearful whimpers. They failed to see the snow turn to ice beneath his feet. They failed to hear his faint cries of pain.

They did notice the wall of razor-sharp spikes that suddenly materialized centimetres from their faces, however.

Annabeth and Christopher fell backwards, panting heavily in shock. From behind his protective arc of icy spears, Thomas stood up, tears flowing freely down his cheeks.

“I said stop. I said _stop!_ ”

* * *

Elsa watched the events unfold below with mounting tension. There was her son, running, his pursuers quickly gaining on him. The Queen let out a little gasp when Thomas slipped and fell, his cousins pelting him with glee. When Thomas made no move of retaliation, she was already stepping off the balcony, a staircase of ice coalescing beneath her feet. It was there that the Queen looked upon her son’s act of panic. She saw Annabeth and Christopher thrown off their feet by a blast of familiar white light. She heard Thomas’s tearful cries ring off the courtyard walls.

“I said _stop!”_

Abruptly, the scene before Elsa’s eyes transformed to the snow-covered interior of the great ballroom. She saw her bolt of magic strike her sister’s forehead. She saw Anna’s limp body slide across the ice, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only sign she was even still alive…

Casting decorum completely aside, Elsa threw her hands out in front of her, the staircase morphing into a crude slide in her haste to reach the children below her. Finally ran the ground, the Queen ran towards the scene as quickly as her heels would allow, the snow hardening beneath her feet in her panic.

“ _Thomas!_ ” she yelled.

* * *

It was Annabeth who recovered first. “Tom, I… we… we didn’t hear you!” she tried to explain, a note of fear in her voice.

Thomas had calmed a little, but the tears still came.

“You should have stopped!” the little prince sniffled, voice cracking. “It was hurting!”

“I’m… I’m sorry! I didn’t see…” Annabeth continued to plead. Christopher, on the other hand, had begun to back away from Thomas’s icy spikes, horror evident on his features.

At that moment of tension, a clear, commanding voice broke the heavy atmosphere.

“ _Thomas!”_

The children all turned their heads to the sound to see Elsa bolting towards the scene, her expression grim, though it could not conceal the lines of worry that still showed through.

“Ma… mama?” Thomas replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Upon seeing their aunt, Annabeth and Christopher quickly stood up, brushing the snow off their clothes and standing guiltily beside each other.

“Thomas, what is the meaning of this?” Elsa gestured fiercely at the icy spikes, gleaming gold in the setting sun.

The little prince sniffed. “I… They kept hitting me with snowballs, and it hurt! I told them to stop, but they didn’t listen, so I had to _make_ them stop!”

Thomas began to cry again. Elsa moved to her son and pulled him into an embrace, looking over Thomas’s shoulder at Annabeth and Christopher.

“Annabeth, Christopher, go to your mother,” she said to the siblings, who still stood mutely by each other. The siblings turned as one and hastily made for the stairs.

As Thomas’s cousins entered the castle, Annabeth stuck her head back out the doorway, a sad look in her eyes.

“I really am sorry, Tom. Please forgive us.” The door swung shut.

Thomas stayed in his mother’s arms, trembling. With a slight motion, Elsa thawed the looming spikes, the ice sublimating into the afternoon air with a soft crackle. She put her son at arm’s distance, looking into his slate grey eyes.

“Thomas, what were you _feeling_ when you created the spikes?”

Thomas sniffled again, turning away from his mother’s intense gaze.

“I felt… scared at first, when they started hitting me. But, when Anna and Chris didn’t stop, even when I told them to…” The little prince looked back into Elsa’s eyes. “I got… angry at them. I wanted to _make_ them stop.”

Elsa took both of Thomas’ hands in her own, kneading them almost unconsciously.

“Thomas, this power comes with responsibility. No matter what you are feeling, you must _never_ use your powers to harm another person.” Elsa’s tone was grave, but not scolding. “What you did just now was wrong, Thomas. You could have seriously injured Anna or Chris. You could have _killed them_.”

Thomas screwed his eyes shut.

“I… I never wanted to hurt them!” he sobbed. Elsa took out a handkerchief from her dress and wiped the moisture from the little prince’s eyes.

“I know, my little love. Believe me, I know.” She pulled him into an embrace once more.

When mother and son finally pulled away from each other again, Thomas was no longer crying. Elsa gave her son a reassuring smile.

“Now, that doesn’t mean you _can’t_ use your powers,” Elsa continued with a small smile. “Use them for defense, never to attack.” Raising her arm, she raised a large convex shield of ice from the ground. “Find a solution that will protect you, but not hurt the opponent.”

The little prince stared wide-eyed at the display, then immediately proceeded to attempt the creation of his own shield. His brow furrowed in concentration, a light scattering of snow beginning to fall around him. In the end, however, Thomas only managed to raise a rough slab of ice from the ground.

Elsa ruffled Thomas’ hair with a tinkling laugh.

“That’s something we can work on. Precision.”

Turning serious again, she brushed the snow off of her son’s clothes.

“When we go for dinner, I want you to apologize to Annabeth and Christopher. Also, I’m halving your chocolate supply for this week.”

“A whole _week?_ ” he whined with a pout.

In his heart, however, the little prince knew it could have ended a lot worse.


	4. Gingivere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “A Knight in the Making”  
> [Two Steps From Hell – “New Machine”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYQ0xZR6K2k)

It is said that time heals all wounds, and for the infamous quartet the saying held true. Although fear drove the royal children apart for a span, Thomas’s apologies and want for forgiveness eventually restitched the rip in his friendship with his cousins. Olaf helped as he could, dealing out as many warm hugs as possible to dull the barbs stuck in the children’s relationship by Thomas’s act of panic. It wasn’t long before the quartet was whole and active again, roaming the halls together once more.

It also wasn’t long before Thomas began his formal studies. It was quickly evident that he had a natural knack for geometry, though his first instructor resigned from the position due to Thomas’s habit of using his powers to doodle idly when thinking on problems. The young prince also found rhetoric classes particularly enjoyable, as they taught him how to win almost any argument against his older cousins—a skill which he found most useful.

Thomas also became an avid chess player, in no small part because of his father’s own mastery over the game. Many late nights were spent by the light of the fireplace, the warm, homely glow flickering off the pieces on the board.

Thomas’s brow furrowed in concentration, hand slowly moving toward his knight, only to have it flinch back at his father’s sudden rebuke.

“Ah, ah, ah! Can’t move that knight! You see, I have it pinned to your king with my bishop. If he moves, the king will be in check!”

Thomas frowned, then picked up his other knight. “Ha! Check!”

Henrik raised an eyebrow, taking the knight with his queen. His son’s frown returned deeper than before. The King laughed.

“Oh, Tom, it’ll be a while yet before you can best me at my own game! Your move!”

Just as his father taught Thomas to navigate the chess board, Elsa taught her son to navigate his powers. With over a year of practice, the young prince had finally learned to create a perfect shield of ice. To Elsa’s dismay, however, Thomas quickly turned to crafting other notably less defensive creations. His interest in such things was only intensified by his love for stories of high adventure, often involving knights wielding the most extensive array of medieval weapons imaginable.

When Thomas turned eight, Elsa showed him to his new room, which had finally been completed after almost a full year’s work. The doors, embroidered with frost and snowflake patterns, opened to reveal a large hexagonal space, with hardly a wooden surface in sight. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all constructed of marble and stone, glinting cooly in the morning sun. A bed sat in one of the far corners, a fireplace positioned at the wall opposite to it, and a grandfather clock ticked away by the door. The only wooden aspects of the room were the shelves and tables, though they, too, were heavily laminated.

Indeed, the room had been designed specifically to accommodate for its inhabitant’s powers, though the architects had never been made wise of the fact. Thomas loved it. Here, he could use his abilities to their full capacity, without worrying about damaging wood with damp and temperature or potentially bringing the roof down upon his head. Here, Thomas was truly free.

And it was here where his powers grew.

By age ten, Thomas was able to conjure an assortment of weapons on a whim. Crude spears, pikes, maces, and hammers he was able to bring to his hand with nothing more than a bit of concentration. Thomas’s point of pride, however, was his sword. Though still a work in progress, it was already a sight to behold. A clear, translucent blade of the densest ice, deep iridescent blue, its crystals pointing outwards in perfect symmetry. Annabeth and Christopher came to love watching their younger cousin practice, Christopher especially.

“Now make a javelin, Tom!” the excited boy would often yell. “Now make a trident!”

Thankfully, Thomas had learned to thaw his ice long before, so such antics were usually hidden from his mother.

Elsa, however, was far from oblivious to her son’s growing interests. Grand Pabbie’s warnings echoed constantly in the back of her mind, a haunting reminder of the dark path Thomas could potentially take. Yet, Elsa had no arguments to sway her son. What she really needed was a way to distract the boy, to give him something else to focus on besides crafting weapons.

She took up the subject with Henrik one night.

“Well, there’s a very easy fix to that!” Henrik said, after a moment of beard-scratching. “The boy loves his adventure stories. Challenge him to make a full suit of armour! That should keep him occupied for a week.” The King chuckled at the thought. “And what’s more, armour is solely defensive!”

Elsa mused over the prospect, a smile slowly bringing light to her features. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

* * *

Thomas yawned, stretching under his bedsheets. The warm light of the morning sun filtered through his eyelids, turning the world behind them a bright sea of pink. The young prince sighed contentedly, snuggling back into the pillow with a smile on his lips.

The moment of bliss was shattered by an insistent bout of knocking.

“Your Highness. Your Highness!” came a muffled voice from behind the closed doors.

Thomas groaned.

“C’mon, Kai! Five more minutes!” He broke into another jaw-cracking yawn.

“Your Highness, it’s well past nine! Get up! Your tutor of physical sciences will be here in less than an hour, and on top of that you’re going to miss breakfast!”

At that, Thomas started. Opening his eyes a crack, he peered at the grandfather clock by the door. The glaring right angle formed by its hands persuaded him to do as the servant had said.

Leaping from his bed before drowsiness could reclaim him, Thomas opened the door to Kai, who promptly began to help the boy get dressed. As he opened the door to Thomas’ wardrobe, an unruly mess of clothing spilled atop the servant.

“Thomas, you really need to get more organized!” Kai exclaimed. Seeing as the young prince was too busy putting on his stockings to listen, the servant sighed.

“Which colour suit for the day, Highness?”

“I don’t care!”

Kai frowned down at the boy.

“Blue it is, then, though you really should put more thought to what you wear. First impressions are very important, especially concerning royalty like yourself!”

Thomas jumped to the servant, quickly threading his arms through the sleeves of the simple waistcoat, a solid blue colour with a bit of gold trim.

“Breakfast is more important!” he replied cheekily, buttoning the waistcoat and stepping into his similarly decorated overcoat.

Kai tsked, bending down to straighten Thomas’s clothes.

“Then you should have woken sooner. Now you suffer the consequences! For your mother’s son, you act a great deal like your aunt!”

A few moments later, Thomas rushed into the dining hall, ignoring his parents’ silent but meaningful stares of disapproval, quickly taking his seat beside Christopher. Anna laughed at the scene.

“Sometimes I think Tom is more like me than you, Elsa!”

“That’s what Kai said,” Thomas mumbled around a mouthful of pancakes. His father frowned, but decided to let the slip in etiquette slide for the moment. There were more pressing matters to discuss this morning.

“Thomas, I have news for you. I’ve canceled your scheduled class with your physical sciences tutor for today. Now, before you get too excited-” Thomas froze mid-cheer. “-the reason for this is because your mother has a lesson of her own for you. I heard she has some assignments planned.”

Thomas’s eyes quickly flitted to his mother, who continued to daintily pick at her breakfast as if she hadn’t heard the statement. Thomas sunk a bit into his chair.

_ Oh, I’m done for _ , he thought, wilting a little. Christopher’s guilty looks did nothing to help his anxiety. The young prince quickly scarfed down the rest of his breakfast, then bolted to his room.

Closing the door behind him, Thomas slid into his chair, breathing heavily from more than just his recent run. What was he going to do? His mother was obviously going to punish him in some way for creating those weapons. He thought she didn’t know, but she  _ always _ knew! Who had he been kidding?

The sound of the door opening interrupted his train of thought. Thomas turned slowly, trying desperately to feign nonchalance.

“Hello, Mother.”

Elsa closed the door behind her, her expression calm and impassive. “Hello, Thomas. Shall we begin? Let’s start with your frost exercises. Draw me the Greek letter delta, would you?”

Thomas was shocked speechless. “You… this is just a regular lesson?”

His mother gave him a look of surprise.

“Yes, of course. What else would it be?”

Thomas let out a quiet breath of relief, slowly standing from his chair. “No! Nothing! Ahem!”

Clearing his throat, he set his hands in front of him, legs shoulder width apart. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the well of wintry magic within him. Frost was the surface layer, the shallowest and least of his abilities, requiring but a simple thought to summon. The temperature in the room took a dip as icy patterns began crackling to life beneath Thomas’s feet, spreading out in the shape of the requested symbol.

His mother watched, nodding with approval.

“Alright, now draw the Royal Seal.”

Thomas formed an image of the familiar symbol in his mind, the frost crawling along the marble floor, slowly coalescing into the three-petaled crocus. He looked upon his creation, chest puffing out ever so slightly in pride.

“Very good!” Elsa praised. With a wave, his mother erased the patterns of ice from the floor. 

“Now for your real assignment this lesson. I know you’ve grown very proficient at creating medieval weapons from ice...” Elsa paused to let the statement sink in. Thomas gulped, mentally kicking himself for letting down his guard. Before he had a chance to speak, however, his mother continued on.

“...so my assignment for you will be similar to that. Your assignment this week is to craft a complete suit of armour. You may use the ones at the bottom of the grand banister as a guide, but you will receive no help from me or your father.”

With a small smile, his mother raised her hands slowly, slabs of ice rising from the floor at her whim. A few more motions, and the blocks began to take a rough humanoid shape. With a final flourish, a completed suit of armour now stood sentinel at the doorway, an exact replica of the ones on the first floor.

Thomas stood breathless, stunned by the display.

“How…”

Elsa ruffled her son’s hair, laughing.

“I’ve had to fix the suit downstairs more times than I can count. Anna really had a knack of taking it apart one way or another.” She chuckled again. “I could probably build it in my sleep now.”

With another wave of her arms, his mother evaporated the statue.

“Remember, one week. And this is not an excuse to skip classes!”

Thomas was already itching to begin, bouncing about with barely contained excitement.

“I’ll try to remember that, Mother!”

Elsa pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ll leave you to it, then!”

With a final smile, the door closed on his mother’s silhouette.

* * *

Thomas threw himself into the new project with a gusto. In the days that followed, the young prince kept the temperature in his room bitterly cold to prevent his work from melting in the spring air. At the start, Annabeth and Christopher watched eagerly beside their younger cousin as he worked, but it wasn’t long before their blue lips and shivering frames forced the siblings to take their leave.

Thomas started from the ground up. Asking for one of the suits of armour by the stairs to be moved to his room, the young prince promptly disassembled it. His first attempt at creating a suit spontaneously from large slabs of ice as Elsa had had not ended well. When he showed it to his mother, she had promptly melted the crude, undetailed statue to slush.

“A  _ suit _ of armour, Thomas! I hardly think a person could have fit in that!”

Thus, Thomas tried a different tactic. He made replicas of each piece of armour individually, then assembled the suit by hand. He started with the boots, then the shin-guards, the knee-pieces, all the way up past the breastplate to the shoulder guards and helmet. It was slow work, but the young prince forced himself to be very precise. It would be a disaster if the pieces did not fit together in the end.

By day four, Thomas had all the pieces of armour completed. His suit of ice was ready for assembly. Turning to the original suit of armour, he started. The heap of disassembled pieces lay glinting in the afternoon sun. Thomas groaned. He would never be able to figure out how to put the suit back together in a  _ month _ , much less three days! Resigned, he called for Kai, who spent a long hour teaching the boy how to reassemble the armour.

_ It’s not really cheating _ , Thomas reasoned, as he set to work on his ice replica.  _ Mother never said anything about not asking Kai for help! _

By the next evening, Thomas had fully assembled his suit of ice armour. He gingerly placed the helmet upon the completed body, closing the perforated visor. He stepped back, exhaling with fatigue as he looked upon his completed creation. The armour glinted a dark translucent blue, almost eerie in the darkness of the night. It had a personality to it, embodying the noble spirit of chivalry and adventure that the young prince had become so enamoured with from the books he had been reading. He felt accomplished, elated at his success. He laughed aloud.

“I proclaim you… Sir Gingivere the Lionhearted! Lover of adventure, protector of the weak!”

With a crackling of frost, Thomas summoned forth his sword with practiced grace, tapping the suit of armour on the tip of its helmet with the flat of the icy blade.

Little did he notice the spark of magic that travelled from his hand, up the blade of his sword, and into the helmet of the suit of armour at the point of contact.

* * *

Thomas was awake at the crack of dawn. The day promised to be a big one. He got out of bed and opened the door to his wardrobe. After a moment of thought, he decided upon his green suit for the day. He glanced at the clock, absently brushing back his hair to tame his unruly bedhead. The short hand pointed straight at the seven, its longer counterpart at the twelve. Thomas relaxed a bit at the fact that he had an hour of freedom before he would have to officially start his day.

The boy sat down in his chair, idly playing with a lock of his platinum-blonde hair as he contemplated his mother’s reaction to his completed project. He hoped for high praise, but he supposed it was certainly possible that Mother may simply smile and nod, especially if it was a busy day for her. Thomas frowned at the thought. He really should have checked Mother’s schedule the night before, to ensure sufficient time for maximum praise when he presented his finished assignment.

As for the assignment in question…

Thomas started. He looked wildly about the room. The suit of armour was nowhere to be seen! Possible scenarios churned through his head in a panic.

_ Could it have melted in the night? No way! The room’s still freezing, and there’s no slush or water anywhere! _ He thought again.  _ Could someone have taken it? If I move fast, maybe it’s still in one piece! _

He bolted from his room, suit jacket flapping behind him.

Christopher was the primary suspect. Annabeth would never have done such a thing, and barely anyone else in the castle knew of his project at all. Thomas ran for his cousin’s room at the end of the long sunlit hallway. Turning the knob on the door, he found it locked. Thomas banged his fist incessantly on the wood.

“Chris! Did you take my suit of armour?” Hearing nothing but snores from the other side, he yelled again. “Wake up, Chris! If you took my armour I swear I’ll freeze you until next month!”

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice sounded from behind Thomas.

“I don’t think that would be warranted The boy is innocent of the crime you accuse him of!” The voice was accompanied by a peculiar clanking, almost…

_ Almost like the sound of ice on marble! _

Thomas whipped around. Before him stood a most incredible sight: his lost suit of armour was situated a mere arm’s length away, the icy plates twinkling blue in the morning light. The young prince was taken aback. How had he missed the  _ entire suit of armour _ on the way to Christopher’s room, when its placement had been so obvious? More importantly, how had his suit of armour gotten there in the first place? And who was that voice?…

It was then that the same suit of armour brought itself down upon one knee before him.

“My apologies, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself! Sir Gingivere the Lionhearted, at your service, Master Thomas.”

Before he had a chance to fully comprehend the situation, Thomas heard the dull squeak of an opening door from behind him.

“Uh, Tom, what’s up?” A very drowsy Christopher stumbled out into the hallway in his bedclothes, hands rubbing his tired eyes. “Why’d you wake me? It’s not even eight yet!”

Thomas stood frozen to the spot, speechless. Sir Gingivere, on the other hand, did not seem to understand the situation the same way. Standing and walking to the newcomer, the suit of armour extended a hand in greeting.

“Ah, so you must be the ‘Chris’ my master was attempting to wake with such ferocity! Rest assured, it was all a rather large misunderstanding. Master Thomas suspected you of having stolen me, you see, and it is now quite obvious that that is not the case!” A strange rattling that sounded almost like laughter emanated from within the helmet. “After all, I stand right here!”

Christopher was rubbing his eyes with a great deal more intensity now. “Am… am I dreaming? I must be dreaming!” The boy proceeded to pinch himself on the forearm. “Ow! Oh! This isn’t a dream!” Following the revelation, Christopher’s eyes turned wide as saucers. “Tom… what did you do?”

Thomas raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t know! I didn’t want this! How did it  _ come alive? _ ”

At this, the young prince remembered the other being who had been brought to life with powers akin to his.

“Olaf! We need to get Olaf!”

Christopher nodded quickly, then sprinted barefoot down the hall to find the little snowman.

Sir Gingivere watched the receding form of the boy.

“Quite a lively chap, isn’t he?”

“Yes he is…” Thomas agreed, still uneasy at the sight of the living suit of armour. He felt a droplet of water land on his brow.

“I forgot, you’re made of ice!” he exclaimed to his creation. “Come quick, before you melt!”

The suit of armour swiftly followed his master back down the hall.

“Good gracious, I am liable to melt? A mere walk in the sunlight will reduce me to naught but a puddle! Oh, dear, how fragile my existence is!”

Thomas put his hand on Sir Gingivere’s chest, the plates of armour re-freezing beneath his fingers.

“I’ll think of something!”

Opening the door to his room, Thomas all but shoved Sir Gingivere in. “It’s cold in here. Stay put and… don’t melt.”

And with that, he down the hall after his cousin.

* * *

Olaf loved the spring season almost as much as summer. The sweet smell of the morning dew, the lengthening days, the rays of the smiling sun, awakening life from its deep winter hibernation; it made the little snowman’s heart fill with joy. Or, rather, the spot in the snowman’s snow-chest where a heart was supposed to be.

This particularly lovely morning, Olaf found himself wandering through the castle’s southern courtyard, wallowing in the spring atmosphere. Though the gates were perpetually open now, the smaller of the two courtyards was always empty, mostly because it was nearly impossible to access without entering the castle first. The little snowman hummed a tune to himself, bouncing about and spreading a trail of rapidly melting snow behind him from his personal flurry. It was in this state that Christopher found his friend, happy and carefree as always.

“Hey, Olaf!” Christopher greeted, running towards the little snowman. Seeing the boy, Olaf immediately began waving frantically with his twig-arms.

“Hey, Chris!” Bounding up to Christopher, Olaf enveloped the boy in a huge hug. “Good morning! Ooh, you’re still in your jammies!”

“Well, I was kinda in a hurry,” the boy explained sheepishly. “Thomas woke me up a while ago, and he had a  _ living suit of armour _ with him! How crazy is that? And I thought, ‘Hey, Olaf would probably know something about stuff like that, being a live snowman and all’, so I came to find you!”

Olaf scratched his twig-hair in contemplation.

“Would this suit of armour you’re talking about happen to be the one Tom was making from ice for the past week?”

Christopher nodded vigorously. The little snowman’s eyes suddenly lit up with understanding.

“Ooh, oh, oh, oh, I know why! Tom must have brought it to life with his powers!”

Christopher frowned in confusion.

“Tom can do that?”

“Of course he can, silly!” Olaf giggled. “He has the same powers as Elsa, and Elsa built me!” At this, the snowman paused to look down at his arms, opening and closing his twig-hands. “Last I checked, I’m alive!”

After a pause to think, the boy put his palm to his face.

“Then I really should be talking to Auntie Elsa, shouldn’t I?”

At that moment, the castle doors behind the duo snapped open, admitting Thomas into the courtyard. Seeing Christopher with Olaf, the young prince waved.

“Oh, good, you found Olaf! Follow me, hurry!” Thomas started running back into the castle. When his older cousin made no move to follow, he shot Christopher a questioning glare. “Well, are you coming? What’s the matter, Chris?”

“Yeah… about that. Shouldn’t we tell your mom that you somehow brought an entire  _ suit of armour _ to life with your powers?”

“Elsa will know what to do!” Olaf added. “She has experience with these things! I mean, just look at me!” The snowman waved enthusiastically to his abdomen.

Thomas heaved a dramatic sigh. “I really wanted it to be a surprise though!” But the young prince shook his head in reluctant compliance. “But now he’s  _ alive _ . I guess we should talk to Mother.”

“Talk to your mother about what?”

The boys both froze at the sound of Annabeth’s voice. The girl revealed herself from the concealing shadows of the pillar she stood under, a smug grin upon her face. Christopher glared at his sister.

“Well that’s good of you, sneaking about like some kind of spy!”

Thomas frowned as well. “How much did you hear?” He folded his arms in front of his chest. Annabeth blew a raspberry at her younger cousin.

“I heard enough to know that you brought your suit of ice armour to life. What, was having just a suit of armour not good enough? You  _ had _ to bring it to life?” It was Annabeth’s turn to fold her arms over her chest, her eyebrow raised in question.

“No, no, it wasn’t like that!” Thomas groaned. He had a fair idea of when and how he had brought Sir Gingivere to life, and the thought of admitting that he had spoken to a then inanimate object was too humiliating to consider.

“It just happened! I need to ask Mother about what to do with him!”

“Him? So it has a name?” 

Thomas groaned louder. Annabeth seemed even more intrigued than before. 

“Show me! Show me!” she exclaimed, leaning forward eagerly, her strawberry-blonde hair bouncing about in its ponytail. Thomas, sensing an upper hand, smirked at his cousin.

“Or what?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“You want to play that way? Fine. If you don’t show me, I guess I’ll have to tell my dear mum about how you stole her chocolates the other day. You know how protective she is about her chocolate...”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Thomas gritted his teeth in anger at the disgustingly low blow.

“I guess we’ll see then, won’t we?” Annabeth grinned smugly.

Christopher and Olaf looked back and forth between the quarrelling cousins, laughing but cringing at the same time as the tension built in the atmosphere. From experience, Christopher knew how quickly such arguments could escalate. Once, Thomas had frozen the entire dining table, food and all, during a dinner dispute with Annabeth. Frost was already starting to spread from under Thomas’s feet… 

But at last the young prince relented.

“Nothing is worth Aunt Anna getting mad, especially when it’s about chocolate,” Thomas conceded with a sigh. “Fine, follow me.”

Turning, Thomas ran toward the doors. As they entered the castle, he couldn’t help but add a spiteful “This time…”, sending forth a sprinkling of frost accompanied by an arctic gust to accentuate the statement. Annabeth’s sudden intake of breath from the cold gave Thomas a guilty, victorious thrill.

* * *

Gerda had served the Arendellian royal family for three generations. Needless to say, the aged maid had seen and experienced a fair share of strangeness in her time. She had been one of the first to witness Elsa’s budding abilities as a child. She had seen Princess Anna’s hair turn white as she slowly died of a frozen heart. She even conversed with a living, breathing snowman on a regular basis! After all she had experienced, the maid thought herself rather immune to surprise.

Her morning chores were less numerous these days than in days past. With the influx of new staff after the Queen’s open-gate policy, work in the castle was much more evenly distributed than during those years of isolation. Gerda now found herself giving orders more often than following them. Nonetheless, some duties were left to only the most trusted members of staff.

Like on most mornings, Gerda had the job of waking the royal children and “helping” them make their beds and organize their wardrobes — though she usually ended up having to do it all herself. This day, she was in charge of Thomas. As the clock struck eight, Gerda stood before the young prince’s bedroom door, giving a quiet little knock. She prepared to knock again, with increasing volume and intensity until the knocks elicited a response, as was the usual tactic. This time around, however, things took a turn for the bizarre.

“Hello? Who’s out there? If you are looking for Master Thomas, he is currently running an errand.”

Gerda frowned. Though the voice didn’t sound like the prince, the maid knew how mischievous the boy could be.

“Thomas, you can’t fool me. Open up!”

The same unfamiliar voice sounded from behind the door.

“Master Thomas truly is absent! But, since you insist, I suppose I should let you in to see for yourself.”

The door opened with a wave of cold air. The maid stormed into the room, her searching eyes scouring the six walls for the young prince.

_ Where is that cheeky little troublemaker? _

The maid’s eyes settled on the icy suit of armour to her left. She couldn’t help but gasp a little in admiration at the fine craftsmanship

_ But where is the boy? _

“Do you believe me now? He isn’t here!”

What was that voice? It seemed to be coming from her left…

_ The suit of armour! _

Gerda laughed haughtily in triumph.

It was then that the suit of armour in question tilted its head quizzically.

“Why do you regard me so shrewdly? Surely you do not believe that Master Thomas is  _ inside _ me!”

The maid’s laughter turned to a choked gurgle in her throat. Had that suit of armour just… spoken? Moved on its own?

“If you are set on staying, could you please shut the door? You’re letting the heat in, and I’ve been told I am liable to melt!”

Before she knew what was happening, Gerda found herself in the arms of the suit of armour, her body caught halfway on its descent to the marble floor.

“Are you quite alright, madam? You seem a bit faint!”

Gerda — who truly was feeling quite faint indeed, at the moment — leapt from the arms of ice with a spryness that did not match her years. In the blink of an eye, she was cannoning down the hall, screaming “Queen Elsa!” at the top of her lungs, leaving a very confused suit of armour in her wake.

* * *

The quartet had just ascended the grand staircase onto the second floor when a piercing scream echoed through the castle.

“ _ Queen Elsa! _ ”

Thomas froze in his tracks, Olaf nearly knocking him over as he knocked into Thomas’s back. Annabeth frowned.

“That sounded an awful lot like Gerda! Why would she need to see Auntie Elsa in such a hurry for this early in the morning?”

The pieces had already clicked into place in Thomas’ head. In the blink of an eye, he had set out in a flat-out sprint for his bedroom, hints of frost trailing in his wake. The other three raced to follow.

“Tom, slow down!” Christopher shouted after his cousin. “What’s going on?”

The young prince offered no reply except to run even faster. When he reached the hallway that contained his bedroom, Thomas found his door wide open. Skidding to a panting halt in front of it, he found Sir Gingivere standing with his arms out in front of him. Thomas folded his arms over his chest.

“OK, what did you do?”

“That’s the problem! I haven’t a clue! It seems that my voice is so grievous that the maid ran from me screaming the instant she heard it!”

“The maid?” Thomas slapped his palm to his face. “Gerda! Oh no… She didn’t know I was up, so she came to wake me and found you instead!”

By then, the other three members of the quartet had finally caught up to Thomas. Annabeth gave a gasp as she beheld Sir Gingivere.

“Wow! He’s beautiful!”

Taken aback by the compliment, Thomas could only reply with a sheepish grin. Sir Gingivere gave a modest bow from behind Thomas.

“If only that maid had been so kind.” The suit of armour shook his head. “She ran from me like I was the plague!”

“Yeah, weird huh? People used to do that to me all the time, too! I even scared someone off the pier once!” Olaf bounced into view from behind Christopher. Sir Gingivere backed up a few paces, hands held as if in defense.

“What in the name of chivalry is that!”

Olaf spread his arms wide and gave a single-toothed grin.

“Hi! I’m Olaf, and I like warm hugs!”

“He’s a live snowman,” Christopher explained simply. “Auntie Elsa gave life to him, just like Tom did for you!”

At that, the suit of armour walked slowly over to Olaf, scrutinizing the little snowman. Olaf looked up at Sir Gingivere, scrunching his brow in confusion.

“How do you talk if you have no face?”

The suit of armour froze on the spot. Though he indeed did not have a face to express with, the children could feel Sir Gingivere’s wounded pride nonetheless.

“And how, pray tell, would a man of snow give warm hugs?” Sir Gingivere retorted. Olaf drew himself up with dignity.

“I may be a snowman, but Anna says I give the warmest hugs ever!”

“And what of that peculiar cloud above your head?”

“It’s so I don’t melt!”

Sir Gingivere was a great deal more interested now.

“Really? Is there a possibility that I could get one?” The suit of armour looked to his creator. Thomas shifted sheepishly.

“Uh, well, clouds are hard. I have no idea how Mother does that with Olaf. Whenever I try to make snow, it stops as soon as I stop thinking about it. Sorry, Sir Gingivere…”

The temperature suddenly dropped. All heads turned to Thomas.

“Wasn’t me!” Thomas said with a shrug.

“Children! What is going on here?”

The Queen strode into view, her sister in tow. Annabeth and Christopher flinched, and Thomas slowly turned to face his mother. Elsa’s icy gaze scoured the group, finally settling upon Sir Gingivere.

“Thomas, did you bring your suit of armour to life?”

“Y-yes, Mother?” The statement was spoken like a question.

Elsa massaged the bridge of her nose with two fingers.

“And why would you do such a thing?”

“I… I don’t know how it happened, or even how I did it! It just happened!” Thomas cringed, expecting a great deal of chastisement. He was very surprised to hear the sound of his aunt’s laughter instead.

“Oh, Elsa, looks like Tom’s your son after all! C’mon! Olaf was an accident, too! And you have to admit, even Marshmallow wasn’t completely thought through!” Anna gave another little giggle. Elsa remained silent as she stared at the suit of armour.

Thomas cleared his throat.

“Would this be a bad time to tell you that I might have… knighted him? His name is Sir Gingivere.”

That was the final straw. A burst of laughter escaped his mother’s lips. 

“You  _ knighted _ an inanimate suit of armour? Thomas, I thought I taught you better than that! Oh, you really are more like your aunt than you know!”

Anna slapped her sister playfully on the arm. Everyone’s attention was redirected once more as Sir Gingivere stepped forward.

“My apologies for interrupting, but I do not believe we’ve been introduced.”

Olaf jumped at the chance. “Ooh! OK! Elsa, meet Sir Gingivere.”

Elsa raised an eyebrow.

“Sir Gingivere, meet Queen Elsa!”

With astonishing speed, the knight knelt at Elsa’s feet.

“Your Majesty! My sincerest of apologies. I was not aware that I was in the presence of a Queen.”

Elsa smiled in amusement. “Well, at least he is a gentleman! Rise, Sir Gingivere. All is forgiven.”

The knight stood with military efficiency.

Anna laughed. “He’s certainly got better manners than Marshmallow!”

“Your Majesty, if I may, would it be possible for you to establish something alike to Olaf’s flurry for me? I am terribly afraid of my imminent demise in this temperature!”

“Please Mother? Can I keep him?” Thomas looked up at his mother with imploring eyes.

“Well, I suppose this is my fault for giving you the assignment,” his mother replied with a mock sigh.

Closing the distance between her and the knight, Elsa placed her palm on Sir Gingivere’s chestplate. The knight shuddered as a glowing snowflake pattern emanated from her hand and spread into the ice. There was a soft crackling as a light sheen of frost spread over the surface of the armour.

“There. Now you’ll keep.” Elsa smiled at her son. “But one mobile flurry spreading snow all over the castle is quite enough.”

Anna clapped her hands happily. Christopher burst out laughing.

“I am honoured,” the icy knight stated, bowing his head.


	5. A Frozen Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “Echoes of the Past”  
> [Christophe Beck – “Whiteout” ( _Frozen_ OST)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIt74yPlR8g)

With further revolutions of the seasons, Thomas began to change. Aside from the expected physical developments that accompanied puberty, the young prince experienced a sudden and unexpected surge in his elemental powers. What would previously only have yielded a light dusting of snow now rendered cast entire rooms into winter landscapes. Anxiety and frustration would cover everything in frost; anger resulted in arctic blizzards. With its rapidly increasing magnitude, Thomas’s power became a loose cannon.

Indeed, it had been at this age that Elsa’s powers had truly become uncontrollable. It had been then when she dared not to even touch anyone anymore. It had been then that her life of isolation had truly begun. Thus, Elsa understood all too well her son’s torment. She redoubled her efforts in teaching Thomas control, and her lessons in the young prince’s room took on a new urgency.

* * *

“The key to control is the complete opposite of what my father had taught me,” Elsa explained. “My father always told me, ‘conceal, don’t feel’. The problem is, you can’t keep your emotions locked inside forever. They just keep piling up until the pressure becomes too much and they explode out of you. In order to gain control, you must let yourself feel. Focus on your emotions. Become familiar with them. Learn to rationalize. Never let your emotions control you. When emotions take free reign,  _ that _ is when your power becomes a danger. That is when the worst can happen. As it did for me…”

A single tear rolled down Elsa’s cheek. She closed her eyes, a wave of unbidden memories coming to life behind her eyelids. She exhaled shakily. Her powers betraying her, frost began to crawl across the marble flooring at her feet.

Thomas rushed forward, his face etched with concern.

“Mother! What’s wrong?”

Elsa took a calming breath, the icy patterns beneath her slowly dissipating. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, but steady.

“Thomas, I think it is time I told you a story.”

Elsa guided her son to the table at the centre of his room, the polished wooden surface dancing in the flickering light of the fire beyond. Taking a seat in one of the upholstered chairs, she gestured for Thomas to do the same.

“Do you remember the stories I told you when you were little? The stories of Anna and me as children, of how I hurt my sister with my powers?”

Thomas nodded slowly. Elsa clasped her hands on the table, leaning forward to begin her tale.

“This story happens twelve years after that fateful night.

“After my parents were lost at sea, it was only a matter of time until I had to take the throne. However, control over my powers was still as impossible as ever, even more so due to my grief at the time. I dared not to even leave my room to attend own my parents’ funeral.”

Thomas shuddered, instinctively nestling closer to Elsa. She held him close.

“As for my preparedness to be Queen, well, I knew it all in theory, but I’d never spoken to a single person outside the castle walls in over thirteen years. To say I was out of practice in human affairs would have been the understatement of the century. So, I planned my coronation with only one thing in mind: minimal contact. Instead of the usual month-long festivities, I cut it down to one day. I arranged time to meet with foreign dignitaries, but I made sure that there wouldn’t be enough for anyone to do much more than exchange greetings. The only time that I would be expected to speak with the public would be during my speeches. Those I practiced until I muttered them in my sleep.”

Elsa chuckled mirthlessly.

“There was one loose end, however. Anna. Your aunt and I have always been different, but back then we were practically polar opposites. While I lived in isolation, she dreamt of the freedom of the outside world, and of human company. She’d even taken to speaking to the paintings in the halls for lack of better companionship.”   
Her son frowned. “Why didn’t you say anything to her?”   
Elsa sighed, a long, defeated sound.

“When I hit Anna in the head with my magic, Grand Pabbie was forced to remove all her memories of my powers in order to heal her. My sister didn’t know the true reason behind my isolation. She didn’t know why I quite literally shut her out of my life. But letting her in had been unthinkable. I had to protect her from my powers. From  _ me _ .”

Elsa blinked away tears.

“Time ticked on. Coronation day came. I was so nervous that I couldn’t hold the orb and sceptre without covering them with frost. I tried to convince the church staff to let me wear gloves during the ceremony. Bishop Gregory was a kind man, one of the few who knew of my magic at the time, but unfortunately he was quite set on tradition.”

Elsa shook her head.

“The gloves wouldn’t have been enough, anyway.

“The actual ceremony came all too soon. It was all a blur from the pedestal, there was just so much  _ noise _ . When the bishop gave me the box with the orb and sceptre, I was in a daze. Gregory had to remind me to remove my gloves. He spoke the symbolic words that would make me Queen of Arendelle at such a slow pace. All I could focus on was the layer of frost forming beneath my hands. Before Gregory had even fully finished, I practically threw the orb and sceptre down. Oh, the relief I felt! I thought the worst had passed.”

Elsa laughed bitterly. Thomas was silent, hanging on every word.

“But it wasn’t quite so simple. At the evening ball, Kai introduced my sister and me to the party guests. I lost Anna for a while, but after she returned from the dance, she seemed happier. She told me how amazing it was to have people around, how I should keep the gates open. I declined, of course. I was set on locking myself away again after the ceremony. Anna was quite upset with me, but I thought it was my duty. I was frustrated that she couldn’t understand the situation like I did.”   
“Because she didn’t know about the powers?” Thomas asked.   
“Yes. She didn’t know why I was so scared.” His mother paused before continuing.

“Anna came back to me later in the night dragging a man along behind her. The man was Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. Right then and there, your aunt asked my blessing for their marriage.”

“What! To a man she just met?” Thomas’s eyes were like moons.

Elsa nodded, a sad light in her eyes.

“Yes, she was so desperate for love! But at that time, I reacted like you just did. Remember what I said about emotions building up? At that moment, the combination of guilt, despair, and anger was simply too much. I told Anna… well, I told her how stupid I thought she was, how she knew nothing about true love. I ordered the guards to end the party. I had to lock myself back up before I did something I regretted. But it was already too late.

“You see, Anna was frustrated too. She tried to stop me by grabbing my hand, but she missed and took off my glove instead. To say I was panicked didn’t do the emotion justice, Thomas. The gloves were the one thing that I clung to to keep my powers at bay after my father died. I was terrified. I tried to get my glove back but Anna refused. She couldn’t bear the idea of going back into isolation. But at the moment, isolation was all I wanted. The frustration, the outright  _ anger... _ I wasn’t in control any more. I was blind. I told Anna that if she couldn’t stay… then she could leave. Probably the harshest words I’ve ever said to her. But, as you know, your aunt has quite the fiery temper herself.”

Elsa shook her head.

“I was so blinded by my own fears, I failed to acknowledge the pain I was putting my own sister through. But Anna could take no more. Instead of backing off like I wanted her to, she went over the edge. She pressed me hard with angry questions. Why did I shut her out? Why did I shut the world out? What was I so  _ afraid of? _ .”

Elsa laughed darkly.

“That was when  _ I _ went over the edge. There was simply too much raw  _ feeling _ to conceal any longer. This time, I did explode. I tried to push Anna away and suddenly, there was a wall of spikes of ice between us.”

She took a deep breath.

“Everyone was too shocked to move. Everyone was staring at me in terror. So I did the only thing I could in that moment. I ran.”

Elsa looked back to Thomas.

“Grand Pabbie said fear would be my enemy. At that moment, fear was all I knew. I ran across the fjord. Turns out I can walk on water, go figure. I just kept running. Into the forest, up the North Mountain. To be honest, I had no idea where I was going. Eventually I found myself almost at the top. I still don’t know how I ran so far.”

Elsa paused.

“Up there, amidst the winter elements, I felt… at home. Free. There, there was no one to judge me, no one I could possibly hurt. And so I let it go. I built a snowman. A ravine lay in my path, and so I built a bridge. On the other side, there was nothing but the mountain… so I built my own palace, my Kingdom of Isolation. By then it was as if every  _ thought  _ was springing to life from my fingers! The freedom of finally being able to use my powers without restraint, without fear… it was wonderful. It was wonderful beyond belief.”

“That was when you built the ice palace we visit in the summer?” Realization dawned in her son’s expression.

Elsa smiled delicately.

“Yes. I thought I could be alone up there. I thought I was finally safe from hurting everyone. But on the afternoon of the second day, I heard the palace doors open. It was Anna, of course. Despite everything, I was glad to see her at first. Ironically, the first worry that surfaced in my mind was how Anna would react to my new clothes. I had made myself a new dress out of ice, you see. One that was… less modest than I was used to.”

Thomas made a face. “Mother!”

Elsa laughed.

“Anna was set on bringing me back to Arendelle. She was very persistent. She chased me through the whole palace. I tried to convince her to return to Arendelle without me, but I didn’t know what I had done. Anna broke the news to me. The people  _ weren’t _ safe from me. Arendelle was in deep snow. In July! Somehow, I had unleashed eternal winter on the whole kingdom. ‘Just unfreeze it!’ Anna said. But, I didn’t have the slightest idea how. A life of trying in vain to avoid my powers, and I knew next to nothing about controlling them…” 

“Can I do that too? Make the weather change?”

As soon as the question left her son’s mouth, Elsa winced. She took Thomas’s hand.

“Maybe… maybe with some learning. But back then I had no control. I didn’t even know how I was doing it!”

Elsa hung her head.

“I was too far gone. There was only panic after that. There was too much raw  _ fear _ to contain. I couldn’t stop it. It was like the magic just exploded out from me. I hit your aunt in the heart.”

She felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Mother, it’s snowing. In my room.”

Elsa shook herself. She raised a hand to her cheek, surprised to find the rivulets of moisture that had made their way down her skin. The snowflakes froze in mid air, then dissipated. She paused for a trembling breath before continuing.

“Fear, Thomas. Fear had me in its clutches. It was so powerful that it transformed the once beautiful chamber into a nightmare. The walls were a sickly red, there were sharp icicles everywhere. I even went so far as to chase out Anna with a monsterous snow golem. I didn’t even know I could make those! But still I stayed, isolating myself even though I knew it was useless. Were it not for the soldiers, I would probably never have mustered the courage to leave.

“But soldiers came. A group of about fifteen men lead by Prince Hans came to take me back to Arendelle by force. I quickly shut the doors, but it didn’t stop them. I was chased up the stairs and got cornered in at the top by two men with crossbows from Weselton. The Duke of Weselton had sent his assassins to kill me!”

Thomas was on the edge of his seat. “What did you do next?”

Elsa grimaced.

“I have to admit, my instincts took over at that point. After everything, I wasn’t ready to die. I pinned one of the men to the wall with a cluster of ice spikes. I conjured a heavy slab of ice and used it to push the second man away from me. I almost pushed him clean off the balcony.”

She paused for a moment to take her son’s hands in her own.

“Whatever you do, Thomas, always  _ think _ . Fear can so easily become anger. And when your mind is clouded by anger, as mine was, even the most horrible acts can be committed. No matter what happens, you must  _ never _ use your powers to hurt another.”

“But, Mother! They were about to kill you!”

Elsa’s voice was soft but stern.

“Killing with these powers can never be condoned, Thomas. I shudder to imagine the outcome had the battle not been interrupted. But it was. Prince Hans came in, tried to reason with me. But the man whom I had pinned to the wall got another shot off at me. Hans managed to knock his aim loose, but the crossbow bolt still dropped the ceiling chandelier on me. Now that I think back on it, I wonder if that had been Hans’s plan in the first place. To crush me under the chandelier and be done with it…”

“Prince Hans is a bad man, isn’t he?”   
Elsa nodded darkly. “Worse than even the Duke of Weselton.

“I was knocked out, and I woke to find myself locked in my own dungeons. The scene outside the window was almost unbelievable. I saw ships trapped on the frozen surface of the fjord, snow falling heavily, smothering the land in a thick blanket. Anna’s words were true.

“Not soon after, Prince Hans came to visit. He told me he locked me up to spare me from being executed. At the time I believed him, but that turned out to be a lie. He ended up sentencing me to death later himself. But I was not ready to die. I froze my manacles and managed to blow a hole in the wall of the prison.”

“Oh, oh, Mother!” Thomas cut in excitedly, “I remember my physical sciences tutor teaching me this! When iron gets really cold, it can break like glass, right? Is that how you escaped?”

Elsa smiled at her son.

“Yes, eventually. It really was quite a close call, though. And blasting through the wall… I still don’t know how I managed it, but I did. Out on the open fjord, my powers truly raged out of control. I was blinded by my own storm. I got lost. Eventually, Hans found me. He told me that I had killed Anna with my powers.”

Elsa’s breath hitched. “At that point, I was more than ready to die. I welcomed it. I thought I deserved it.

“But Anna was not dead. She was the one who saved me. Even half-frozen, she managed to get between me and Hans. She froze solid the moment Hans’s sword came down and blocked the strike. Your aunt loved me so much that she put my life before her own, even after all I had done to her. And in the end, it was that love that saved her frozen heart.”

The dying embers of the fire glowed in the hearth, flickering off Elsa’s soulful eyes.

“That’s how I learned to reverse my magic, Thomas. That’s how I learned to thaw out the kingdom.  _ Love  _ was the answer all along. If I had just allowed myself to love, I would have learned control so much sooner.”

Elsa locked eyes with her son, stroking the backs of his hands with her thumbs.

“That’s what you must remember, Thomas. Always leave room in your heart for love. Promise me this.”

Thomas nodded mutely.

“Mother…” he asked hesitantly. “Will you make me wear gloves, too?”

Elsa shook her head. “No, Thomas.” She took him into her arms, smoothing a lock of hair back from her son’s forehead. “Never.”


	6. To Corona

As Thomas entered his teen years, his royal studies intensified. The young prince was forced to memorize the tediously long list of royal and noble titles and could soon draw the map of Arendelle in his sleep, though he had little say in the matter. Previously trivial subjects increased to almost painful difficulty, consuming far more time and effort than ever before. However, all of this was nothing compared to Thomas’s language studies.

As the Crown Prince and future King, Thomas was going to have to be fluent in all the major languages of the surrounding nations. Knowing this full well, Elsa and Henrik hired tutors for their son on almost ten such languages (having to re-hire several times due to some tutors having an aversion towards talking snowmen). The young prince soon found himself regarding his new courses with great frustration. Swedish and Danish were close to Thomas’ mother tongue of Norwegian, and so presented little challenge; but languages such as English and Russian were completely different, making learning them a strenuous and gruelling task.

But the language that was the object of Thomas’ utter hatred was, alas, French.

“ _Bonjour!_ ”

The aged French tutor was always cheerful to the point of absurdity, his fat moustache like grey slug atop the man’s lip, wriggling as he spoke.

“ _Bonjour, monsieur_ ,” Thomas replied halfheartedly.

“ _Comment ca va, aujourd'hui?_ ” The tutor gave an expectant smile, patiently waiting as Thomas struggled desperately for an answer.

“ _Ca va…_ Uh... _Ca va bien?_ ”

In the far corner of the room, Sir Gingivere’s palmed his face (or lack thereof) with an audible clank.

The tutor tsked, wiggling his finger in front of the y

* * *

oung prince’s face

“Your lack of practice this week is evident. Repeat after me! _Comment ca va? Ca va bien! Ca va mal! Ca va comme ci comme ca!_ ”

Thomas groaned, secretly wishing he could freeze the man’s moustache off and be done with it. 

“ _Comment ca va? Ca va bien_ …”

To Thomas’ dismay, his cousins shared little of the young prince’s new burdens. Annabeth and Christopher still lived carefree lives, their studies hardly even changing with their increasing age. When confronted about the situation, Elsa felt more than a little empathetic for her son.

“Oh, Thomas, you are the heir! Of course you’re going to have to work harder than everyone else.” She looked her son in the eyes, gently holding his hand.

“People will always need someone to look up to. Someone to lead them. Someone to _fight for_. As King, you will be that someone. And in order to earn your subjects’ loyalty, you must prove yourself to be a solid and capable leader. That capability will only come from education.”

Elsa smoothed back a platinum-blonde lock from Thomas’s face

“The crown is a heavy burden to bear, Thomas. The work you have now is but a fraction of the work you will have as King.” There was a hint of wryness in Elsa’s smile. “Get used to it.”

But studying alone did not guarantee to make a strong leader, as Elsa knew all too well. What Thomas needed was experience; experience that could only be attained through interaction with real people. After all, the young prince’s studies would be for nothing if he didn’t put his new skills to practical use. With this in mind, it seemed almost a strange stroke of fortune when the invitation came.

* * *

_His Majesty the King, Eugene Fitzherbert  
_ _and  
_ _Her Majesty the Queen, Rapunzel Fitzherbert_

_invite your attendance  
_ _to the festivities  
_ _in honour of the seventeenth birthday of their son_

_Warner Fitzherbert_

_to be held on Monday, the fifteenth day of August  
_ _eighteen hundred and thirty-one  
i_ _n the Kingdom of Corona_

Thomas read over the invitation slowly, excitement beginning to build within his chest. He looked up at his mother, who stood to the side of his table, watching him.

“Mother, isn’t Queen Rapunzel a cousin of yours?”

“Yes, she is. My own mother was the younger sister of her mother, making Rapunzel your…” His mother paused in thought, finger to her chin.

“...first cousin, once removed. That makes Prince Warner your second cousin.”

Thomas frowned a little as he tried to make sense of the ranks of kinship, and gave up soon after.

“And I thought the titles of nobility were confusing!” Thomas grumbled.

His mother laughed.

“Don’t worry, even I get caught up with family trees most of the time.”

_Rapunzel, Rapunzel... Where do I know that name?_

Thomas started. “Wait, isn’t Queen Rapunzel the one with the magical hair? The one who married that thief… Flynn, Flynn Rider?”

His mother’s smile tightened a little at the edges.

“His real name is Eugene Fitzherbert, and he is certainly a thief no longer! He is the King-Consort of Corona now. Rapunzel inherited the throne from her parents a good seven years ago when her father abdicated. As for your cousin’s magical hair, it was cut short during her battle with her kidnapper, Mother Gothel, and so lost all of its magical properties… Oh, I’m sure King Eugene will tell the tale much better than I can.”

When he realized the implications of the statement, Thomas’s excitement soared.

“So we are going then! When will we depart? Oh, and can we take Sir Gingivere with us? Who else is coming-”

The young prince’s babbling were cut short by the creak of the opening door. In marched the frozen knight in question, nodding to his master, bending over in an elaborate bow to the Queen.

“Apologies for my intrusion, Master Thomas, Your Majesty, but I couldn’t help but hear my mention in your conversation.”

Elsa placed a gentle hand upon her son’s shoulder.

“It seems my son can’t stand being apart from you. He wants you to join us on our voyage to Corona. What do you think, Sir Gingivere?”

The knight seemed surprised at first, but quickly stood straight, placing a hand to his breastplate.

“It would be my honour, Your Majesty.”

Sir Gingivere proceeded to cock his head at Thomas in what probably would have been a teasing smile, had he had a face. Thomas shrugged.

“What? I got to keep an eye on you! If Olaf has taught me anything, it’s that if you leave a live snowman on his own, it causes all sorts of strange trouble.” With that, Thomas turned back to his mother, almost bouncing with eagerness. “What are we waiting for? Let’s make preparations!”

* * *

The polished wood of the desk glinted tauntingly up at him, the piles of letters and trade agreements like flotsam in a sea of red. Oh, how he hated that infernal surface! His desk had come to represent all his failures, how all he did was in vain. Upon it he had spent a good portion of his life, working away for countless hours, the pen in his hand almost becoming a part of him. Yet no matter how many letters he wrote, agreements he signed, there was now little hope for the once great and wealthy Duchy of Weselton.

Ever since that scandalous incident in Arendelle, the name of his land had been befouled. People were wary, eyeing him with distrust during diplomatic meetings, keeping a safe political distance from the nation whose leader had attempted the murder of a Queen. His vast trade network had crumbled as news of the scandal reached other lands, and the treasury had dried up with it. Without supplies, mere survival had become uncertain, and there had been a mass exodus from Weselton when the harsh winters finally became unbearable without the traded goods the nation had once taken for granted. The less rational side of him wondered if it was that wicked sorceress’s doing, mocking him even across the sea.

He wearily ran a hand through his frail grey hair. Age had not been kind to the Duke of Weselton. At times like this, it was as if he could feel the energy draining from his decrepit body, his very life force a feeble flame sputtering at the tip of a dying candle. A sudden rage overcame the Duke. All those wasted years, _decades_ , for nothing! In a single, furious motion, he sent the piles of parchment atop his desk flying about his study in a blizzard of white and yellow.

The Duke leapt from his chair and paced the room, practically vibrating with anger. When it came down to it, his entire demise could be traced down to one name: Queen Elsa of Arendelle. When that wretched sorceress was discovered for who she was, did the citizens of her kingdom burn her at the stake as she rightfully deserved? No. They seemed to care not that their ruler was a monster, that their Queen could plunge them into eternal winter whenever she pleased! Instead, they adored Elsa and remained completely loyal to their Queen, snow and all!

What truly irked the Duke more than he dared to admit was how _successfully_ the Queen of Arendelle ruled. Since the Great Thaw, the Kingdom of Arendelle had enjoyed peace and an economic prosperity that was now but a distant dream for Weselton. As his nation’s trade network had collapsed, theirs had grown and grown, with many of the Duke’s original partners turning to Arendelle when news of his assassination attempt reached their ears. An assassination that would have been successful if not for a certain Prince of the Southern Isles…

At this, the Duke turned on his heel and began pacing in the other direction, a finger to his chin in contemplation. Now that he really thought about it, there was another who had been key to his downfall. The man who thwarted the Duke’s assassins from killing the Queen, only to attempt to cut her down himself. Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, and his own diabolical secret agenda. At least _he_ had gotten his just desserts, incarcerated in his own kingdom, and by his own brothers at that! In fact...

The Duke’s musings were brought to an untimely halt when the heel of his boot slipped upon one of many pieces of parchment scattered about the hardwood floor. The aged man unbalanced, nearly toppling over, his arms pinwheeling frantically in an attempt to right himself. When he finally managed to place both feet firmly on the floor, he glared at the offending letter with contempt. Swiping it from the ground, the Duke was on the verge of ripping it to shreds when his eyes caught the message on the paper.

_His Majesty the King, Eugene Fitzherbert  
_ _and  
_ _Her Majesty the Queen, Rapunzel Fitzherbert_

_invite your attendance  
_ _to the festivities  
_ _in honour of the seventeenth birthday of their son_

_Warner Fitzherbert_

_to be held on Monday, the fifteenth day of August  
_ _eighteen hundred and thirty-one  
i_ _n the Kingdom of Corona_

The Duke leaned back a little, scrutinizing the letter in his hand with squinted eyes, his other hand on his moustache once more. Corona was an enigma. The incident in Arendelle had been the straw that finally tipped the balance in Weselton’s trade war against the Southern Isles. With the Duke’s actions becoming public knowledge, King Mathias of the Southern Isles had been quick to jump at the opportunity to steal away the last trade partners loyal to Weselton. Despite this, however, trade with the Kingdom of Corona had continued with little change from before. What was even more bizarre was the fact that Corona was not only close allies with Arendelle, but the Queen of Corona was actually a relative of the Arendellian royal family. Indeed, the monarchy of Corona certainly had not been friendly towards the Duke after the _incident_ , and his denied requests for a personal audience with them was testament to the fact. He never could decipher the true motives behind Corona’s continued trade with Weselton...

The Duke’s curiosity was piqued. Attending the festivities at Corona could possibly grant him a chance to speak with the royals in person, to discuss matters of importance regarding both their nations. The excitement of his younger self had been awakened. This could be his chance to finally figure Corona out once and for all. This could be his chance to gain a strong political ally to Weselton!

“ _Gilbert!_ ”

His decision made, the Duke called for his steward. The short, potbellied man quickly made himself present, surveying the mess in the study with horror. At the sound of the Duke’s clearing throat, however, the man shook himself and stood smartly to attention.

“You summoned me, Your Grace?”

The Duke handed the slightly damaged invitation letter to his steward, barely even giving the man a chance to read before he gave his commands.

“Make travel preparations for me and a dozen of my best Ducal Guards. We leave for the Kingdom of Corona tomorrow!”

“Yes, Your Grace!”

Gilbert bowed hurriedly and scurried from the room, letter clutched in hand. The Duke of Weselton eased himself back into his chair, kicking aside a couple of scattered papers as he did so. There was a glint in his spectacled eyes, a devious smile upon his face like in glorious days of old.

_Ah, Corona! My most mysterious trade partner! Open up those gates so I can unlock your secrets and exploit your riches!_

* * *

The King of Arendelle stood tall atop the highest battlement of Arendelle Castle, gazing out over the perfect stillness of the sea that stretched to the horizon. Already the _Albatross_ was but a fleck amidst the waves, backlit by the crimson light of the sunset, steadily taking his family far, far away. Though the sun reflected brilliantly off the water, painfully bright in Henrik’s eyes, the King stood unmoving on the stone bricks, his grey stare fixed unwaveringly upon the distancing ship.

Unbidden, images of the immense gravestones of Elsa’s parents seared into his mind. Gravestones under which there were no bodies. The sea was a fickle mistress, caring little for those she took in her wrath. It kept eternal ownership over the lives it claimed.

_God have mercy, be it not the lives of my loved ones._

Thus the King stood, and thus he stayed, looking out over the great blue long after the _Albatross_ was consumed by the setting sun.

* * *

The Kingdom of Corona loomed high over the _Albatross_ , shining brightly in the white morning sun. The shadows of the masts grew gradually shorter as the galleon approached port, its wake the only disturbance in the calm, turquoise waters of the nearing harbour. Thomas leaned over the gunwale, taking in the new scenery with wide eyes.

_The Land of the Sun._

The light shone with so much more fervour here, the very air seeming thick and energized, ablaze in the summer heat. There was an aura to this kingdom, something in the village houses, in the soaring palace parapets, in the very water beneath the bow, an energy that was missing in his homeland of Arendelle. A living energy. Thomas couldn’t put his finger on it.

Suddenly, movement on the shore caught Thomas’ attention. From his high vantage at the prow, the young prince could see an entourage of men in golden armour slowly making their way through the steep village streets, moving steadily down towards the harbour. Amidst the guards walked three figures, their white attire a stark contrast to the gold of the men around them. Two were clad in pristine suits with golden trim; the other, evidently a woman, was wearing a flowing pearl dress that sparkled in the sun. The light glinted off of something else as well, a shape embedded in the lady’s short hair. A tiara.

“Look, it’s the Queen!” Christopher had evidently spotted the entourage as well. His excited shout had Annabeth and Sir Gingivere rushing over.

“What, the Queen? Where!”

Annabeth ran to the railing, scouring the harbour with searching eyes.

“Right there!” Christopher pointed excitedly to the entourage moving out from the village.

Sir Gingivere seemed quite flustered at the sight.

“Are we to be in the presence of the Coronan royalty? Oh, dear me! I am quite underdressed!”

Thomas refrained from rolling his eyes at the knight.

“Sir Gingivere, you are a _living suit of armour_. You are going to be… a big surprise, no matter what you do. Unless the people of Corona are used to things like that, just be prepared for a lot of screaming.”

The knight paused, then shrugged. A halfhearted laugh emanated from his helmet.

“I am sad to say, I have grown used to the screams of those who behold me.”

Thomas groaned, mentally kicking himself.

“Alright, I didn’t mean it like _that_ …”

“What else could be the outcome? You are completely correct. There _will_ be screaming. Someone may even fall off the pier.” Suddenly, the knight began chuckling heartily. “But such is my existence. Such is how it always will be! You need not apologize for what I am.”

Thomas smiled in relief. Olaf was simply too carefree to be affected by people’s initial fear of him, but the young prince knew how deep such experiences had cut into Sir Gingivere. Looking the knight up and down, a mischievous glint returned to Thomas’s eyes.

“I don’t really like screaming too much, to be honest. Let’s strike them dumb with awe instead.”

Sir Gingivere tilted his head in question. Thomas’s grin grew wider.

Pressing his hand to the knight’s chest, the young prince tuned in to his elemental power. He could feel every piece of armour, every line and contour, as surely as he felt his own limbs. He set to work. He was not the artist his mother was, but he certainly had had the best of teachers.

Patterns of frost appeared upon the translucent surfaces of the knight’s armour in delicate swirls, twisting across Sir Gingivere’s body like wintry vines. Upon Sir Gingivere’s back, a sheet of ice shaped itself into a shield. With a final flourish from the young prince, the Crocus of Arendelle etched itself upon the knight’s breastplate.

“Wow…” Christopher and Annabeth breathed in unison, staring at Sir Gingivere in amazement.

The knight looked himself over tentatively, his embarrassment evident despite his lack of facial expression.

“Well, that should do it!” Thomas laughed. “You two couldn’t have looked more amazed if I’d made Sir Gingivere fly!”

“Can you do that?” Annabeth asked excitedly.

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, anything is possible with magic…” Christopher piped.

“If you actually had magic, you’d quickly realize that’s not even close to true,” Thomas retorted. “Oh, I almost forgot!”  
The young prince raised his hand once more, splaying his fingers and scrunching his nose in concentration. At the knight’s hip grew a sword, its blade gleaming wickedly in the sunlight.

There came the sound of footsteps from down the deck. The cousins turned to see the Queen and her sister walking toward them, Kristoff at their side with a detachment of Royal Guards in tow. Elsa had donned a glittering dress of ice, apparently of the same mindset as her son. Let them see the Snow Queen in all her glory.

From the helm came the command of the captain.

“ _Hoist the sails! Steady as she goes…_ ”

“Are we ready?”

Elsa looked everyone over, smiling when her eyes finally settled upon Sir Gingivere.

“Thomas, did you do this?”

The young prince nodded proudly.

Noticing something, her mother made straight for the frozen knight, unsheathing Thomas’ sword in one swift motion.

“And what’s this? A sword! Thomas we talked about this!”

The young prince held up his hands.

“I know, I know! It’s purely for decoration...”

But before the words had fully left his lips, Sir Gingivere had already kneeled at Elsa’s feet. “Master Thomas is my friend and my charge, and I shall protect him with my very existence. Your Majesty, I swear, on my honour, that I shall never use that blade unless in a time of dire need.”

At this, the knight stared straight into the Queen’s eyes.

“But, know this. Any who may attempt to harm my master should fear the bite of this blade! On this, I vow.”

Elsa stared down at Sir Gingivere for a long moment. Thomas stood in place, taken aback by Sir Gingivere’s words, waiting for his mother’s reply with bated breath. Ever so slowly, Elsa took a firm grip of the sword, directing the blade downwards in an icy cross.

“Such vows are not to be made lightly, Sir Gingivere. Do you swear, on oath, to protect my son? To put his life before your own?”

“Yes, Majesty.” There was no hesitation.

“Then I grant you possession of this blade. May you use it well and… may it last.”

There was a flash of magical light as a fine coat of frost coated the surface of the sword, spreading outward from Elsa’s hand. The Queen turned the blade to hold its hilt out to Sir Gingivere. Ceremoniously, she lowered the weapon into the knight’s outstretched hands. With almost mechanical precision, the knight sheathed his sword, the ice ringing as it slid back into place in the holster Thomas had made for it.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Turning to her son, Elsa fixed Thomas with a reprimanding look.

“No more weapons.”

The young prince nodded sheepishly, hands clasped behind his back.

“Um, Elsa…” Anna was trying to get her sister’s attention, a finger pointing out past the bow. “We’re…”

Anna’s sentence was cut short by Captain Edwards’ shout.

“ _Release the anchors!_ ”

The clicking of the falling chains was accompanied by a sudden lurch as the _Albatross_ slowed to a halt.

“...here!” the younger sister finished.  
  


* * *

As Prince Warner Fitzherbert walked to the harbour, all he could think about was how stuffy his damned suit was. He had begged his parents to let him wear a simple summer tunic, but alas they would have none of it. He was the Crown Prince, after all, and so had to look his best.

_Even if looking my best means being boiled alive in this heat..._

The cobbled street beneath his feet gave way to the smoother stone slabs of the port. Drifting across the clear water was the shape of the Arendellian vessel, its sails already hoisted up. Warner could see guards in uniform standing in formation upon the deck of the ship, as well as the shapes of two older women and several younger people at the forecastle.

_The royal family?_

Warner’s thoughts returned to the legends he’d heard of Arendelle. If the Queen of Arendelle truly did have ice powers, she wasn’t using them, at least in any way that he could see. Then again, there were always those who feared magic, so perhaps the Queen didn’t want to attract unwanted attention. Perhaps she simply hadn’t come?

There was a soft thud as the hull of the ship grazed the side of the port. Up close, Warner could make out the name of the great vessel inscribed on the lacquered wood.

“Ah, the _Albatross_ ,” his mother murmured. “I remember seeing that ship moored in the harbour when we traveled to Arendelle for Queen Elsa’s coronation.”

“I wonder if that Kristoff character has come to visit,” his father mused. “He got really well with Maximus last time. Better than me, even!”

“That may be because Maximus spent half his life trying to arrest you,” Rapunzel laughed.

“Hey, I don’t blame him. Even horses can’t resist me.”

Eugene wagged his eyebrows, receiving a playful slap from his wife. The King of Corona turned to face his entourage.

“Well, who’s going to lower the gangplank, fellas?”

The guards took it as a command and rushed to complete the order. With the help of the deckhands aboard the ship, the men tied down the thick mooring ropes, securing a massive wooden staircase to the side of the hull.

The first person to step off the _Albatross_ was a guard in a grey uniform embroidered with the crest of Arendelle, a matching shako atop his head. Three other identically dressed guards stepped down the gangplank in quick succession, standing stiffly to attention at the foot of the staircase.

Then, a woman appeared above the railing, practically bouncing down the wooden stairs with a spirit that didn’t quite match her age. Her strawberry-blonde hair was in double braids, flying behind her shoulders as she ran straight for the Queen of Corona.

“ _Presenting Her Royal Highness, Princess..._ ”

The Arendellian guard never had a chance to finish his proclamation as the princess in question collided into Rapunzel in a tight embrace.

“Hello to you, too, Anna!” the Queen of Corona laughed. “How’s my cousin been all these years?”

“Oh, it’s been _great!_ My two kids are all grown up now, and Elsa’s had a son as well!”

“Yes, we’d heard. Or rather, read, from the piles of letters you keep sending us,” Eugene commented.

“ _Presenting His Highness, Kristoff Bjorgman of Arendelle!_ ”

A large, burly man descended from the ship, a sheepish, slightly shy smile on his face.

“I didn’t realize my official title was so long…”

“And that’s without the “Ice Master and Deliverer” bit,” Anna chimed.

“Don’t remind me,” groaned Kristoff.

“Bjorgman!” The King held his hand out to the ice harvester. “It’s been a while!”

Kristoff took the hand with a firm grip of his own.

“ _Presenting Her Royal Highness, Princess Annabeth Bjorgman of Arendelle!_ ”

This was evidently the daughter of Princess Anna and Kristoff. The girl shifted from foot to foot under the gaze of the Coronans, playing shyly with her hair.

“Um, hi!” Annabeth gave her audience a tentative wave.

“Wow, has it really been that long?” Rapunzel exclaimed. “When we last saw you, you were this adorable thing that I could hold in one arm! Now look at you! A beautiful young lady if I’ve ever seen one!”

Annabeth blushed slightly at the compliments.

“ _Presenting His Royal Highness, Prince Christopher Bjorgman of Arendelle!_ ”

Anna’s second child seemed to be bolder, marching down the steps with confidence. He gave a slight bow to the Coronans.

“Hello!”

“You too? Why, you were barely _this_ big…” Rapunzel’s excited voice was cut off by her husband.

“Honey, I think you may be creeping the kids out...”

Eugene shrank slightly under his wife’s scolding glare.

“...just a little?” he finished timidly.

“ _Presenting Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle!_ ”  
At this, Warner perked up. So the Queen had come. When she came down from the ship, there was no mistaking who Elsa was. She walked with a regality testament to her years in the public eye, seeming to glide down the staircase, arms clasped before her, head held high and straight. Her ice blue gaze was resolute and unwavering.

But that was not what caught Warner’s attention. The prince was all too captivated by the dress the queen wore. It was a deep, clear blue, iridescent in the morning light. The fabric seemed to be comprised of fine crystals, glittering as they caught the rays of the sun. A long train trailed from the bodice, one embellished with patterns of snow and frost. Coupled with the queen’s stark platinum hair, her pale white skin, and the inexplicably cold air about her, the sight sparked Warner’s curiosity anew. Could she truly wield the power of winter?

The Queen of Arendelle greeted the Coronans with a deep, elaborate courtesy. However, Rapunzel would have none of the formality. With a knowing nod from Anna, the Queen of Corona took a flying leap at Elsa, almost knocking the other queen over with a fierce hug.

“You came!” Rapunzel exclaimed gleefully.

“I made you a promise, didn’t I?” Elsa smiled.

“Ooh, where’s the little Crown Prince?”

“Well, Thomas isn’t so _little_ any more…”

“ _Presenting His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Thomas of Arendelle!_ ”

“Here he comes!” Anna laughed.

But there was no movement from the deck of the _Albatross_.

“ _Thomas?_ ” Elsa called.

A platinum-blonde head appeared above the railing of the ship, peering out at the assembled crowd through slate-grey eyes.

The boy did have a striking resemblance to his mother, even apart from his startling platinum hair. Standing there in a navy blue suit, Thomas certainly looked the part of a heir to the throne, his posture stiff and regal.

But why wasn’t he coming down?

“C’mon Thomas, don’t be shy!” Eugene teased.

“Oh, uh… just give me a moment!” Thomas replied. The boy slowly began his descent from the ship, seeming more uneasy with every step. He finally made it down to the shore, bowing deeply to the Coronans.

“Pleased to finally meet you all! I want to… I would like to ask a question. You’ve all met Olaf before, right?”

“Oh, did Olaf come, too?” Rapunzel answered excitedly.

Thomas seemed to wince slightly.

“Actually, no. But you _have_ met him, right?”

“Who’s Olaf?”

The instant the words left his mouth, Warner regretted them. Now everyone was staring at him.

“Ah, how could I forget to introduce my own son?” Eugene gestured grandly towards Warner.

“Ahem! _Presenting His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Warner Fitzherbert of Corona!_ ”

“Eugene! You can’t announce your own son! We have people for that!”

“Dearest Rapunzel, I am the King and can do what I want. Now, where were we again?”

“Oh, right, Olaf! Warner, dear, haven’t we told you stories about him?” Rapunzel looked to her son in question.

“Wait… is this Olaf the Snowman we’re talking about here?” Warner asked incredulously. “But Mother, he’s a fairy tale! A bedtime story for children! Are you telling me Olaf is real?”

“Oh, he’s real all right!” Christopher quipped.

Warner’s head was spinning.

“So, the stories are all true, then?” Before he could stop himself, he turned excitedly to Queen Elsa. “You really are the Snow Queen? You truly have ice powers?”

Elsa gave a tinkling laugh.

“Well, Warner, what do you think my dress is made out of? I thought it would have been obvious enough.”

“That’s all _ice?_ ” The Crown Prince of Corona stared, slack-jawed.

The clearing throat of the _other_ crown prince shook Warner back to the present.

“So, is it safe to say that none of you are going to run around in circles screaming your if I, hypothetically, showed you a live… snowman?” Thomas asked.

“These guards are trained to the highest level of courage and integrity. There will be no screaming, I assure you,” the King of Corona stated solemnly.

Thomas nodded. The boy turned uneasily back in the direction of the _Albatross_.

“Sir Gingivere! You can come down now!”

There was the ominous thudding of heavy footsteps, slowly increasing in volume as the one to whom the feet belonged to moved closer to the railing of the ship. A glimmering blue head crested the gunwale; the visored helmet of a knight, made completely of ice. Only, there was no face behind the visor…

_“AAAAAAAHHHHH!”_

One of the Coronan guards broke rank and ran frantically in the other direction, arms pinwheeling in his panic. Unfortunately for him, that particular section of dock was but a slim protrusion into the bay, and the man tripped from the pier and flew into headfirst into the sea with a mighty splash. The other guards quickly ran to fish their comrade from the water.

The King of Corona blinked.

“Well! It seems I spoke too soon!”

“That’s no… bloody… snowman! That’s... a _monster!_ ” shouted the rescued guard, coughing up seawater all the while, fear showing clearly in his eyes as he was pulled back onto the dock. Judging by the looks of fear the other guards gave the icy knight, they seemed to agree with the statement. Thomas winced noticeably this time.

Suddenly, a new voice cut through the tense atmosphere.

“Well, excuse me! I’ll have you know that I am a distinguished servant of the royal family!”

A hushed silence fell over the assembled crowd as the icy suit of armour stepped off the ship, its every step a low clank on the wooden steps of the gangplank.

“It speaks?” choked out the first guard.

With a final, decisive thud, the knight of ice set foot upon the dock. There it stood for a moment, presumably surveying its audience. Warner couldn't help but shiver at the sight of the expressionless sentinel. How was that Thomas so at ease around that living statue? With no no eyes, no face, you would never know it was watching you, never know it was even _alive_ until…

But to Warner’s endless surprise, the suit of armour then initiated a deep, sweeping bow. That voice came again, that pleasant, good-natured sound that suddenly made the frozen figure seem a whole lot less menacing.

“Your Majesties, Your Highnesses, I do not believe we have been properly introduced. I am Sir Gingivere the Lionhearted, guardian to His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Thomas of Arendelle, and servant of Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle.”

One would not have been surprised to hear crickets chirping in the silence that followed.

Queen Rapunzel was the first to recover.

“Welcome to Corona, Sir Gingivere!” she replied cheerily. “I’m very sorry about our… bad reception, but we do hope you enjoy your stay!”

At this, Rapunzel glared at the still-sodden guard pointedly. One of the man’s comrades nudged him on the shoulder with reproach.

The guard glanced to Sir Gingivere nervously.

“Ahem! ‘Pologies for my screaming, sir.” He swallowed audibly. “I was just… frightened, is all.”

“All is forgiven, good man. It was nothing I had not experienced before,” the knight of ice chuckled.

To everyone’s surprise, Thomas began to crack up.

“What did you say, Sir Gingivere? ‘Someone may even fall off the pier’?”

The boy’s laughs became uncontrollable gaffaws. After a few moments, Christopher and Annabeth began laughing as well, the light and carefree sound like balm to everyone’s frayed nerves.

Down the gangplank marched the rest of the Arendellian Royal Guard, their deep grey uniforms contrasting with the bright gold of their Coronan counterparts.

“Is that everyone?” Rapunzel asked. Anna nodded.

The King of Corona formally extended a hand to the Queen of Arendelle.

“Your Majesty, I welcome you and your family to our beautiful kingdom.” Turning to the rest of the Arendellians, Eugene grinned.

“Welcome to Corona, everybody!”


	7. The Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “Hired Blade”  
> [Brian Tyler – “Confrontation” ( _Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag_ OST)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STEUonM0v9I)

“...and after  _ years  _ and  _ years _ of asking… I finally said yes!”

“Eugene!”

“Alright! In reality, I asked her.”

“And we’re living happily ever after!”

The King and Queen of Corona leaned toward each other, their lips on the verge of contact when,  _ smack! _

“Ow! Pascal! Geez!”

Eugene rubbed his ear sorely. A small chameleon was perched on the King’s shoulder, turning a deep maroon colour as it seemed to chuckle mischievously,

“Aww! That was so sweet!”

Anna clasped her hands together, her head tilted to one side, wide eyes shining with tears.

Thomas was silent, deep in thought. He felt saddened by the King’s tale, despite its happy ending. Would those with magic always be cursed with lives of such pain and struggle? He thought of Mother Gothel, of Prince Hans, of the Duke of Weselton: people who had acted out of fear and selfish greed, each corrupted in their own way by the presence of magic.

The young prince frowned, his mother’s own dark tales echoing through his mind.

_ I have magic, too. What’s going to happen to me? _

Christopher raised a finger. “Wait, wait. You’re telling me that you healed Eugene with your  _ tears?  _ Does that mean you still have magic?”

Rapunzel shook her head.

“Honestly, Christopher, I don’t know. The magic that I had was in my healing hair, and that hasn’t grown in over twenty years.”

“I only wish my powers were so benign,” Elsa mumbled only half-jokingly.

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, but you’re pretty lucky to have magic at all!” Eugene commented.

Elsa smiled tightly.

“I thank you for saying so but, believe me,  _ lucky _ is the last word I would use to describe my cur...”

Anna shot her sister a sharp glare.

“...powers.”

Kristoff cleared his throat.

“Um, Your Majesty…”

“Please, just Rapunzel.”

“....Rapunzel, does your son have any magic powers?”

“Not that we’ve seen.” The Queen of Corona reached over to ruffle her son’s hair.

“Though he does have an unnatural love for books and studying!” Rapunzel teased.

“Mother!” Warner complained.

“That’s like you when you were his age, Elsa! He may have magic yet!” Anna laughed.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Eugene interjected. “We’ve yet to give you a proper tour of the palace! Warner knows the place like the back of his hand, so he’ll have no problem showing you folks around!”

The King looked to his son, who seemed suddenly nervous.

“Oh, me? Are you sure, dad?”

“Absolutely! Go on, don’t be shy!”

Warner nodded, walking out into the hall and motioning for the Arendellians to follow.

“You’re not coming?” Anna asked Rapunzel.

“The rest of the party guests should be arriving any moment now. We’ve got to be here to welcome them.” The Queen of Corona smiled apologetically. “Besides, I’m sure Pascal and Warner will be fabulous tour guides!”

The little green chameleon leapt from Eugene’s shoulder onto Kristoff’s, waving its little claws around and jabbering unintelligibly in the mountain man’s ear.

“Uh huh… oh, really? That’s great!” Kristoff turned to the rest of his family. “Come on, guys! Pascal says there’s going to be chocolate at the end!”

“Count me in!” whooped Anna.

“Wow, Dad can talk to chameleons, too?” Annabeth remarked.

“What did the trolls say? He’s just a little outside nature’s laws!” Elsa replied with a chuckle.

* * *

Thomas stepped into a huge, cavernous room, massive pillars on all sides, a kaleidoscope of light filtering in from the stained glass of the ceiling high above. The floor was a white, polished marble, contrasting with the soft red carpet running the length of the chamber. At the far end of the room was a pedestal formed by concentric circles rising from the ground. Atop it stood a great chair, seemingly wrought of solid gold, its upholstery rich and elaborate, its back rising to towering height.

Around him stood his family, and leading them was their guide: Crown Prince Warner of Corona.

“This is the throne room. As you can probably tell, uh, by the name, that’s the throne right there.” Warner gestured to the throne.

The windows of the throne room were evidently designed to focus all the light onto the throne itself, making it shine radiantly while casting the rest of the chamber in a veil of shadow. The image of the glowing throne was mirrored in everyone’s eyes. The effect was quite awe-inspiring.

A glint of sapphire from the seat of the throne caught Thomas’ eye.

“Is it customary to place the crown on the throne when the King is not present?” Elsa asked.

“Oh, that’s a running joke of Father’s.” Warner replied.

“What do you mean?” asked Thomas.

“Well, back when he was Flynn Rider, Father was always trying to steal the crown, or so he tells me.” Warner explained. “This is sort of his way of showing that he’s changed for the better. Though the crown belongs to him now, so really I guess he got it in the end anyway!”

Thomas laughed.

“Well, that crown certainly does look pretty!” Annabeth commented. “How come you never wear a crown, Auntie?”

“Oh, crowns and tiaras hurt my head,” Elsa replied simply. Anna gave her daughter a wink.

“Anyway, there’s more to see.” Warner was back at the entrance of the chamber, beckoning for the Arendellians to follow.

They stepped back out into the hallway. After passing a few more doors, the hall abruptly end in a set of double doors. Warner pulled on the silver handles, only to hear the dull click of the locking mechanism. Even with a few harder wrenches, the doors still would not budge.

“Oh no. I left the key back in my parents’ room!” Warner gave a final tug before throwing up his arms up in defeat. “I guess I’ll have to run all the way back…”

Pascal emerged from within Warner’s curly hair, hanging from one of the dark locks and dangling in front of the prince’s face.

“Hey! Pascal, what is it?”

Warner swatted at the lizard, only to have it swing onto his shoulder instead. His little chameleon face a condescending mask, Pascal pulled a small brass key from behind his back, wagging it in front of Warner’s nose.

“Oh! You have it!” The prince held his hand out expectantly.

The chameleon handed the key over with three short chirps that sounded suspiciously like tisks of disapproval.

Thomas couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“And I thought Uncle and Sven were weird!” he exclaimed.

That had the uncle in question folding his arms over his chest defensively.

“Hey, you’re one to talk! Who’s the one with a live snowman as a friend and an ice golem as a servant?” Warner retorted.

“That’s… a fair point,” Thomas conceded.

With a click, the doors opened before them to reveal a chamber even grander than the one they had come from. The ceiling was lower in this room, an ornate chandelier hanging from its apex, casting the walls in a soft, warm light. The floor was hardwood, a gigantic sun painted at the centre, smaller suns placed at the edges of its curved rays. Beams of real sunlight slanted in from the tall windows by the far wall.

“Wait, don’t tell me!” Anna’s eyes swept across the chamber, alight with recognition. “This is your ballroom, isn’t it?”

Warner nodded.

“We don’t use it unless the weather is bad. Mom likes to host all her dances and celebrations either in the village or the courtyard.”

A familiar whoop had all eyes returning to Anna, who had removed her shoes and was sliding about the ballroom in her socks.

“Newly waxed, too!” the woman exclaimed as she shot past the rest of her family.

Warner blinked.

“How is she doing that?”

Elsa laughed. “She’s had lots of practice.”

“She looks like she’s skating.” Warner was suddenly curious. “You live in the North, right? Do you go up to the mountains in the winter and skate on the frozen lakes? I’ve heard it can be quite dangerous… what’s going on?”

Warner gazed perplexed at Thomas as the other prince stared back at him with amusement.

Thomas looked to Elsa, who gave a small nod. A grin spreading across his face, the young prince tapped his foot on the floor. A glowing snowflake pattern radiated out from the spot of contact, a thin layer of clear ice forming upon the hardwood, slowly spreading outwards in a perfect hexagonal pattern. Just for effect, Thomas sent a light arctic gust to ruffle his coattails.

“If Mother’s the Snow Queen, I guess that makes me the Snow Prince,” Thomas said with a playful bow.

Warner gaped at the ice that had formed beneath their feet, as if he couldn’t quite believe the sight of it. Pascal peeked out from behind the prince’s shoulder, eyes wide in awe. With a smile, Elsa gave a little wave of her hand, transforming Warner’s dress shoes into a set of ice skates. The prince promptly fell flat on his back.

“Did I mention I can’t skate?” he wheezed from the ground.

Thomas extended a hand toward Warner, helping the prince back up. Spotting Pascal, the young prince laughed.

“That’s really too bad, because Pascal sure can!”

The little chameleon was zipping about Thomas’ miniature ice rink, twirling and pirouetting comically.

“Hey, what about us?” Annabeth and Christopher came running over, Anna matching their steps, a reluctant Kristoff in tow. Seeing her brother-in-law’s apprehensive expression, Elsa chuckled. With a snap of her fingers, the whole family’s shoes transformed into skates. Flourishing her hands, Elsa widened Thomas’s impromptu rink to encompass the entire ballroom.

The swishing of blades on ice mingled with joyous cheers and laughter from the Arendellian royal family. Thomas whooped with glee, flying across the ballroom like a miniature whirlwind, the sunlight from the windows casting the ice beneath his feet in an alternating pattern of light and dark. Skating always gave a great measure of exhilaration to him. Ice was his element after all.

Taking a glance at Warner, however, Thomas could clearly see this was not the case for the other crown prince.

“C’mon, Warner, skating is easy!” Annabeth called. “Arms out, like this, see? Now, slide your feet like you’re shuffling…”

The Crown Prince of Corona swayed unsteadily, leaning forward at an extreme angle, nether region high in the air. The prince’s face grew redder with every passing moment.

“Can we just move on to the next room?” Warner implored, trying vainly to save some shred of dignity from the situation.

“No, no! You’re doing it wrong!” Christopher exclaimed. “Stand up! Back straight!”

Warner strived to follow Christopher’s directions, only too late realizing that he had unbalanced himself. Arms pinwheeling, legs flailing, the prince toppled upon his rump with an ungainly flop. Thomas chuckled, drawing level with Warner effortlessly.

“Do you need a little help?” he asked with a mocking tinge to his voice.

Warner lay defeated on his stomach, face beet-red with embarrassment. Annabeth sighed.

“You’re no fun,” she huffed.

Warner seemed bothered by the comment, but made no move to get up. He began sweeping his hands across the surface of the ice, a determined expression on his face. Thomas raised a bemused eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

Warner suddenly looked up with a devilish grin.

“I think this is more fun.”

Too late, Thomas noticed the makeshift snowball cupped in the other prince’s hand. He frantically tried to maneuver out of the way, but the slippery ice beneath his skates impeded his acceleration. The soggy projectile made contact with the back of his head with a wet smack.

Abruptly, the ballroom fell dead silent. Slowly, Thomas turned back to face Warner. The other prince was trying to keep a straight face as giggles wracked his body.

There were a few scattered giggles from Thomas’s family as well. To Thomas’ left, Christopher ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“Warner, you just threw a snowball at Thomas.  _ Thomas. _ ”

Warner’s expression grew confused, evidently not yet realizing the full gravity of the situation.

Christopher just sighed. “Didn’t your parents ever tell you never to start a fight you can’t win?”

“But there’s no more…”

Thomas summoned a nimbus of glowing magic into his palm, snowflakes beginning to drift through the air around him. Now, it was his turn to grin.

“...snow.”

Warner’s voice dropped off into apprehensive silence. Pascal peeked out from the folds of the prince’s clothing, only to shrink back immediately, covering his eyes with his little chameleon claws.

Thomas drew the moment out a bit longer.

“Son of the Snow Queen, remember?” With that, he let fly an unrelenting barrage of snowballs, burying Warner in a mound of powder.

Christopher shook his head sagely at Warner’s head poking out from under the snowdrift.

“And  _ that’s  _ why you never throw snowballs at Tom.”

Laughter echoed off the walls of the vast ballroom.

In the shadows of the doorway, a figure bearing the crest of Weselton slid unnoticed out into the hall, making for his sovereign's chamber with great haste.

* * *

“So how did it go?”

The King of Corona’s voice punctuated the sounds of food consumption. “You all certainly seem hungry enough!”

“Mmph… You can’t blame us!” Anna squeezed out between chews. “This roast is delicious!”

Anna’s cheeks were bloated, her lips stained brown with sauce. Rapunzel giggled as Elsa frowned at her younger sister’s disregard for decorum.

Warner gazed upon the bountiful assortment of dishes and platters brimming with food positioned across the long table before him. Strangely, he felt no hunger pangs at the sight. He suspected it was because of the regrettable amounts of chocolate he had consumed at the end of his tour guide. At least he hadn’t been the only one...

“Mom, how are you still  _ going _ after all that chocolate you ate?” Annabeth exclaimed.

Christopher was equally flabbergasted. “You took half the platter!”

“And Warner took the rest,” Thomas laughed.

“Yeah, I barely had any…” Christopher grumbled.

Pascal chirped a reply from his position on the arm of Warner’s chair.

“Well, that’s easy for  _ you  _ to say, Pascal!” Kristoff retorted at the little lizard. “You eat one piece and you’re stuffed!”

Pascal patted the noticeable bulge on his underside in agreement, turning a content shade of yellow.

“Which is just as well,” Elsa commented. “Otherwise, we’d have all of you bouncing off the walls from the sugar.”

“Hey, you weren’t so noble either, sister!” Anna mumbled around another mouthful. “Admit it, you were the most upset of all of us when you didn’t get your chocolate!”

Elsa’s indignant retort was cut off by Rapunzel’s laughter.

“This chocolate addiction really runs in the family! I can’t survive without it!” The Queen of Corona turned to her son. “But how did the  _ tour  _ go?”

Warner cleared his throat.

“Well, they really seemed to love the courtyard and the Portrait Hall...”

“You have a painting of Joan of Arc, too!” Anna piped.

“Oh, that old thing? She was here  _ long _ before I became King. Is it important, somehow?” Eugene enquired.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” The royal sisters of Arendelle shared a knowing smile.

“... and we also went skating in the ballroom!” Warner finished.

“Wait,  _ skating? _ ” Rapunzel looked to Elsa with a knowing grin.

Elsa held up her hands.

“Don’t look at me!” she laughed. “It was all Thomas’s doing.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Well, alright,  _ mostly  _ his doing,” Elsa conceded with a smile.

“How did Warner do?” Eugene asked with a chuckle. “I know for a fact my boy has never skated in his life!”

“Didn’t stop him from making a snowball from the ice that came off of our skates and hitting me with it, though,” Thomas laughed. “But I think he’ll be thinking twice before doing that again.”

That had both the Coronan monarchs laughing as well. Rapunzel turned to the Crown Prince of Arendelle.

“Thomas, I’ve never asked! How much of your mom’s magic do you have?”

“Oh, he certainly has powerful magic!” Warner attested. “Enough to cover the ballroom floor in ice with a tap of his foot. Also enough to make a whole legion of snowballs appear out of thin air and bury me with them.”.

“And don’t you forget it!” Thomas stated, raising bite of food to his mouth.

“His control is certainly far better than mine was at his age,” said Elsa, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“Could Thomas give us a demonstration, perhaps?” Eugene ventured.

Thomas looked to his mother for permission, then nodded. He put down his fork and raised his right hand. Iridescent blue sparks began to swirl around his fingers. Warner stared with rapt attention as a snowflake coalesced above Thomas’ palm, the perfect crystals glittering under the light of the dining hall chandeliers.

Thomas handed his creation to King Eugene, who took it gingerly.

“Incredible...” Eugene breathed as he turned the piece of ice over in his hand.

Thomas shrugged, making the snowflake disappear with a wave.

“It  _ is  _ incredible!” the Queen of Corona exclaimed. “We live in a world of magic!”

“It’s beautiful for sure, but magic seems to cause a lot more trouble than good,” sighed the Snow Queen. “Which brings me to another question. Have the rest of the party guests arrived yet?”

Eugene nodded.

“Lord Nicholas of Bray and the Duchess of Withertine made port while you were away on your tour. Also, a ship flying the French colours was sighted on the horizon about an hour ago.”

‘You hear that, Tom?” Anna grinned. “There’s going to be people from France at the party! You can impress them with your French skills!”

The young prince gave a long, drawn-out groan, leaving Warner with the impression that the boy probably did not enjoy speaking French very much. The rest of the Arendellians laughed.

“Did anyone arrive  _ before _ us?” Elsa pressed.

“Well, there was one very early arrival,” mused Rapunzel. “Some squirrelly old man and his guards. The Duke of—what was it?—Weasel-town?”

“You invited the  _ Duke of Weselton? _ ” Elsa exclaimed.

“That’s it! Weselton!” As if only then registering Elsa’s words, Rapunzel’s expression abruptly became one of worry. “Wait, is there something wrong?”

The Queen of Arendelle took a deep breath.

“That man tried to  _ assassinate  _ me, Rapunzel! Even though it happened two decades ago, I’m not letting him anywhere near my family!”

“Trust me, we wouldn’t have invited that smarmy old man either if it hadn’t been completely necessary,” Eugene placated.

“And  _ why _ was inviting him necessary?”

The King of Corona sighed. “Well, the unfortunate fact is, our kingdom is dependant on Weselton for their coal. We invited the Duke out of courtesy of our trade alliance, nothing more.”

Warner watched his father and Queen Elsa stare at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Elsa exhaled slowly.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to endure the Duke’s wretched company for a couple of days.”

Elsa smiled in apology. “But I’m sure nothing can come close to undermining the happiness of Warner’s birthday festival.”

The Queen of Arendelle stood, brushing nonexistent crumbs from her pristine ice dress. “Now, I believe there is a ball on tonight?”

As if on cue, three men in sharp red suits and black hats marched smartly into the dining hall.

“Right this way, Your Majesty, Your Highnesses!” one of the servants bowed, sweeping an arm toward the doors.

The rest of the Arendellians stood as well, removing their neckerchiefs and following the servants out of the dining chamber.

The Coronan royals remained seated. Rapunzel looked to Eugene.

“Do you think inviting the Duke of Weselton was a good idea?” she asked, uncertainty in her voice.

Eugene closed his eyes.

“No. No, it wasn’t.”

* * *

The Duke of Weselton was not happy. Five days he had sat in his allotted room in the palace of Corona, mouldering in the sweltering heat of high summer. Five days he had been shadowed wherever he went by the Coronan Royal Guard, the men seeming to observe his every move with scrutinous suspicion. Five days, and he was still no closer to gaining an audience with the Coronan monarchs than when he had first set foot upon the dock—no closer to the trade agreement that was the sole reason for his presence.

As if to deepen the insult, the Arendellians were in Corona, too. The Duke had caught glimpses of them throughout the palace, strutting about and engaging in activities of flagrant excess with the Coronan royalty. He had even spotted the wicked sorceress herself among the crowd, the sight of whom had sent an instinctive chill of fear down his spine.

To stop himself from going utterly mad with impatience, the Duke paced about the room, sparing not a square centimetre of the flooring from the heels of his black boots. It was thus that he found the small, decrepit drawer at an obscure corner of his chamber, a thick coat of dust upon the once shining wood, squeaking from years of disuse. His curiosity sparked, the Duke retrieved the yellowing and flaky parchments within to his desk, poring over them for lack of something else to do.

The papers were addressed to the “Captain of the Guards”; a series of reports naming and physically detailing criminals of great concern at the time. A fresh bout of indignation flared in the Duke’s chest. Not only had the monarchy commissioned their guards to tail him every moment of the day, but they had given him a room that had obviously once been  _ used _ by one of those guards! Why, the nerve of those arrogant, insufferable...

By some trick of the light, a name upon the parchment caught his eye.

_ Flynn Rider _ .

The King of Corona’s old persona. The Duke’s eyes scanned across the paper.

_ Crimes: thievery on many counts, suspected rape, evasion of the Royal Guard. _

_ Known haunts: pubs and taverns; notable sightings at the “Snuggly Duckling”. _

_ Known associates: Stabbington brothers, Gareth “Hook Hand” Jones, Vladimir van Bane. _

_ Status: WANTED, dead or alive. _

The Duke’s lip curled in a sneer. Every ruler had his dark secrets, but it seemed King Eugene’s history was quite the lot filthier than most. It was a wonder the kingdom was still intact at all with such a character upon the throne.

Three urgent knocks upon the door shook the Duke from his mental goading.

“Who is it!” he called.

“Phillip, Your Grace!”

The Duke groaned, yanking open the door with a swift jerk. The Ducal Guard all but fell into the room. The man was panting profusely, as if having run a great distance, a distraught expression upon his face. The Duke fixed him with a hard glare.

“Well? What news do you have?”

“Your Grace, the Snow Queen has a son-”

“Yes, I am  _ well aware  _ of that fact! I have been for a decade! Now, I ask again. What  _ news _ do you have!”

“ _ thesonhasthecurse! _ ”

“Excuse me?” The Duke froze in his tracks.

The guard looked quite agitated now.

“Queen Elsa’s son has the curse! I saw the boy cover the entire ballroom floor with ice at the tap of his foot! He summoned snow from thin air and buried the Coronan prince with a wave of his hand! He...”

The man’s voice blurred away into the background. Five words resonated within the Duke’s mind, each reverberation increasing in intensity until everything else became white noise.

_ The son has the curse. _

_ The Crown Prince of Arendelle is a sorcerer. _

From all outward appearances, it would have seemed the Duke had suddenly awakened from a stupor. His back straightened. His face hardened into a firm scowl. His gloved hands tightened into fists at his sides. Pushing past his still-babbling guard, the Duke of Weselton marched out into the hall, his heels clicking resolutely on the hardwood.

He knew what needed to be done. Nothing else mattered now.

* * *

By the cover of darkness, a figure moved amidst the shadows of the forest path. Though it was impossible to make out the finer details, the silhouette suggested a lithe, slight man, walking with the brisk pace of one with a destination in mind. Posture bent forward, the tails of his long overcoat swishing with his steps, the lip of his hood pulled low, he seemed like a wraith under the pallid light of the moon.

It was thus that Marcus Everett shouldered through the beaten door of the tavern, making for the equally dilapidated bar situated by the wall. Ignoring the drunken grunts and slurs of the thugs and bastards around him, he slid onto a stool, placing his elbows upon the grimy surface of the counter. The smiling bartender quickly noticed the new customer.

“Can I get you anything, dear?”

“Something to drink will do,” Marcus replied.

His voice was barely above a whisper, his hood concealing all but the tip of his worn nose. The barmaid nodded, reaching behind her for a dented iron mug, moving it to a faucet on the wall to fill it with a frothing brown brew. The man took the tankard with a wordless nod, gulping at the contents without so much as raising his head.

“You’re a quiet character, aren’t you?” the barmaid ventured. “What has you out here on the outskirts of Corona?”

“They say us men are driven by three things. Our greed, our groins, and our thirst,” the man grunted, taking another long drag from his mug.

The barmaid leaned forward, giving Marcus a liberal view of her ample bosom.

“So it’s a bedwarmer you seek?”

The man laughed; a low, guttural sound.

“Don’t flatter yourself, girlie.”

He finished the last of his beer with a swig, setting the mug down upon the counter with a firm clunk. With an almost imperceptible turn of his head, Marcus began to survey the tavern, searching eyes sweeping across the many alcohol-soaked men with cool indifference.

“Who are you looking for, then?” The barmaid cocked her head curiously.

“An employer,” he answered.

“Oh? And what line of work would a man such as you be interested in?”

“I would tell you, but then I would have to kill you.”

Marcus flipped a single silver coin onto the counter.

“For your services.”

Something about the man’s tone sent shivers down the maid’s spine. Swallowing nervously, she hastily took the man’s mug, disappearing into the back room behind the bar. A dark smile touching his lips, Marcus stepped off his stool in one fluid motion, seeming to meld into the shadows in the corners of the tavern.

Indeed, in his line of work, trustworthy employers were hard to come by. After all, those who had use for a hired assassin were seldom particularly savoury characters themselves. More often than not, men were not actually willing to pay their promised sums, resorting to—how did they like to put it?—”eliminating the loose end” instead.

The pathetic rabble gathered in the tavern tonight offered little chance of a fresh job. A pity. His last assignment had ended with him barely escaping with his life, much less his promised coin. Quite the irony to send a man to kill the man whom you had hired to kill another man in the first place, but alas, it was par for the course when trafficking with death.

Giving the interior of the tavern one last glance, Marcus spat in disgust. Nothing but a lot of hopeless men, drowning their sorrows in tankards of cheap beer. His time would be much better spent elsewhere.

But just as he was about to take his leave, another group of men marched into the tavern, the battered door groaning in protest.

The newcomers held themselves with the haughty arrogance of men who thought themselves above the drunken flotsam about the rest of the room. Their crisp crimson uniforms and rigid military stances left no doubt in Marcus’s mind: these men were guards.

_ Who are they guarding? _

The question had barely entered his mind when the answer presented himself. Pushing through the ranks of the burly guards, an old man strutted into view, squinting out at the tavern through bespectacled eyes. By his elaborately embroidered blue uniform, prim epaulettes, and immaculate moustache, it was obvious this was a man of stature, an aristocrat at the least. What could such a man possibly want from this pathetic congregation of lowlifes and nobodies?

By now, the chatter about the tavern had died down to a thick silence. A sea of bloodshot eyes fixed upon the strangers at the door. From the shadows, Marcus mentally shook his head at the moustached man. One did not walk in to a place like this with such displays of obvious wealth and expect to be able to leave cleanly. Already, he could make out some of the bolder ruffians creeping toward the group, reaching for their blades and pocket flintlocks, waiting for the slightest opportunity to strike.

It was then that the old man cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen, I have reason to believe a wanted man is in your midst.”

The man’s voice was high and nasal, but carried a tone of surprising authority. Enough authority to make every other man in the room freeze in their movements.

Taking a white parchment scroll from one of his guards, the old man unrolled it in front of him.

“The man I am looking for is in his mid-thirties. Black hair, brown eyes, high-bridged nose.”

The parchment was flipped outward to show the image inscribed upon it. A portrait. Above the crop of short hair,  _ WANTED _ was stamped upon the parchment in thick black ink. Below the portrait’s chin was a name.

_ Marcus Everett _ .

His name.

At once, Marcus felt cold, searching stares lacerate his body. The urchin he had bumped into on the way in, the man with blackened teeth and tobacco breath he had shoved aside at the door, even the barmaid herself all turned their heads in unison to face the dark corner in which he stood. He pressed himself even tighter against the wall, hunching over in a desperate attempt to stay inconspicuous. Noticing the shifting heads, the moustached man at the door smiled a dark, triumphant smile

“I have been told this Mister Everett prefers to wear a hood.”

At the counter, the barmaid gave a gasp of shock. The man with tobacco breath sneered, showing the blackened stumps that were left of his teeth.

“So, what exactly is Everett wanted  _ for _ ?” the man slurred.

“The unlawful murder of a certain Dylan Bennett.”

The old man handed the wanted poster to another of his guards, who rolled it back up with hard, swift motions. In his shadowy corner, Marcus cursed his luck. Not only had his last job failed to earn him any solid gold, but it was coming bloody close to defenestrating his entire career. He fingered the hilts of the twin daggers strapped at his sides.

The court had no mercy for men like him. If he was to go down, he would go down fighting.

Suddenly, firm hands gripped his arms like steely vices. A hard fist came pounding down upon his temple, jolting him into a world of starburst. He felt another hand rip the hood from his head, yanking his face up into the light. A kick swept his legs out from underneath him. Thinking they had him incapacitated, the two men holding Marcus began dragging his limp body across the tavern floor.

But the assassin was not to be captured so easily. Feigning unconsciousness, he assessed the situation. These men were definitely servants of the moustached man a the door. That must be where they were dragging him. From what he had seen, the other six guards were still situated around their charge. Thus, the faster he acted, the better his chances were of escape.

Marcus took a deep breath. He struck.

Planting one foot firmly upon the floor, he jerked himself upright, aiming a vicious kick with his other leg. His foot met its target with a satisfying smack, the guard to his left relinquishing his hold upon the assassin, collapsing to the ground and clutching at his groin in agony.

One hand now free, Marcus unsheathed a dagger in one swift motion. Before the second guard could retaliate, he slammed the hard steel of the hilt into the man’s solar plexus. Even as the man doubled over in pain, Marcus swiftly aimed a second blow to the back of his head, knocking the guard unconscious instantly. Dropping the body to the floor, he flipped his hood back over his head, pivoting as he prepared to flee.

The sound of blades unsheathing ripped through the tense atmosphere. One moment, Marcus was dashing wildly for the back door; the next, the gleaming tips of three short swords were tickling his throat.

“Hands where we can see them!” one of the guards growled.

Marcus swallowed, feeling his adam’s apple brush against cold steel.

“Do it now, or I’ll cut you a second smile just below the chin!”

He slowly raised his hands over his head, letting his dagger drop to the floor. It fell upon the hardwood with a thud. Instantly, two more crimson-clad men grabbed his arms, forcing him toward the door. The old man there nodded with satisfaction, moustache listing in a caustic smile.

“Gentlemen, our business here is done. Continue on with your partaking!”

With that, the moustached man motioned for his guards, who smartly kicked open the door of the tavern, shoving Marcus out into the night beyond. The feeble light of the bar lamps was extinguished as the battered door slammed shut once more behind them.

The guards held him wordlessly, directing him further down the forest path from whence he came. When they passed out of sight of the tavern, the men shoved him roughly to the dewy ground, directing their swords at his throat once more. Marcus whipped his panicked gaze left and right, searching fervently for a route of escape. Alas, he saw naught but more of the crimson-clad men gazing unwaveringly down upon him, eyes glinting with cold resolve. He felt the gnarled bark of a tree press onto his back.

Nowhere left to run.

The old man’s distinctive voice had him looking up once more.

“Marcus Everett.”

The man chuckled darkly.

“It seems you’re quite the… talented man. Not many could have bested a single member of my Ducal Guard, let alone two at once. But I expected nothing less from you. You are the man who managed to slit the throat of a certain foreign dignitary while he was right under the noses of the Royal Guards, after all.”

The moustached man paused for a moment, gesturing to his guards.

“Take that dratted hood off of him! I want to see his face!”

For the second time that night, his hood was ripped from his head. There was a harsh intake of breath from the Duke.

Marcus couldn’t help but give a contemptuous laugh.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

He slowly ran a finger across the long scar that marred his face from forehead to temple, smiling as the old man cringed.

“Just a little further, and I wouldn’t be here entertaining you tonight.”

The Duke gave himself a little shake, scowl back upon his face.

“Can you do it again?” the moustached man demanded.

“Do what?”

“Kill a man quickly, quietly?”

A slow grin of understanding creeped across Marcus’ face.

“You know, there are better ways to acquire use of my services,” he drawled. “Your Grace, is it?”

“Who I am is not of your concern! I will ask you once more, and once more only! Can you do it?”

Marcus leaned back against the tree, fingers to his chin, making a show of lazily contemplating his decision. Though he felt all to clearly the edges of the blades pressed to his skin, he smiled to himself. He was needed, thus he had the upper hand now. They couldn’t afford to kill him yet.

“Well, that depends largely upon two things,  _ Your Grace _ .”

The last two syllables dripped mockingly from his tongue.

“The target, and of course, the price you are willing to pay to see that target dead.”

The Duke surveyed the surrounding forest with squinted eyes. When he was certain there was no one to overhear, the moustached man leaned forward intently.

“The target is Crown Prince Thomas of Arendelle.”

Marcus’s eyes grew wide, then just as quickly narrowed.

“You want me to assassinate a crown prince? I’ve had some tall orders before, but this… this might as well be outright bloody regicide you’re asking me to commit!”

The old man’s brow knitted in displeasure.

“I wasn’t  _ asking _ , criminal!”

The guards pressed their blades harder into the flesh of Marcus’s throat to accentuate the statement.

“I could have you killed and fetch a handsome reward for your carcass from the Coronan authorities! The way I see it, you don’t have much of a choice, Everett!”

Marcus glared defiantly back at the Duke.

“I’m fit to be hanged, drawn, and bloody quartered should this plan fail! What’s in it for me?”

The Duke’s moustache curled in a sardonic smile.

“Ah yes, coin.”

Reaching into his side satchel, the man produced a brown canvas pouch, tied off at the lip with twine. It had a swollen look to it; a familiar look. A look that stirred the greed within Marcus’ heart. The contents of the pouch jangled as the Duke gave it a little shake.

“Isn’t that the sound you scoundrels like best?” The old man chuckled mirthlessly.

Marcus licked his lips, restraining himself from grabbing the pouch like the Duke so obviously wanted him to. Instead, he forced a contemplative expression.

“How much gold are we talking?”

“Fifty thousand Crowns.”

The moustached man shifted his hold upon the canvas pouch so that it was dangling mere centimetres from Marcus’ face.

“Should you complete your task, this will be but the smallest fraction of the riches you will command.”

Marcus exhaled slowly.

_ Fifty thousand Crowns _ .

Enough for him to pay the reward for his own capture tenfold. Enough to buy him an estate, with a servant or two to spare. Enough to wipe clean the slate for good, to give him a fresh start.

_ Take the job, and get mighty rich. Refuse it, and die a poor bastard. _

As much as he hated to admit it, the old man was right. He didn’t have much of a choice. So he took the pouch. Gingerly pocketed the coin. Ignored the Duke’s triumphant sneer.

One last job, and he could live as an honest man for the rest of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the character of Marcus Everett was inspired by Edward Kenway.


	8. A Blade in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “An Attempt”  
> [Brian Tyler – “Batten Down the Hatches” ( _Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag_ OST)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXAVh_8yWTs)

Elsa stood upon the tiled courtyard floor, gazing upwards at the balcony above, her family packed tightly around her. In her arms she held a softly glowing lantern, the flickering flame within already gently tugging it upwards, straining to be let loose into the sky. Everyone else in the courtyard held a lit lantern as well, the flicker amber of the lights looking almost surreal reflected upon the faces of the crowd.

“Chris, I don’t think I can keep hold of these lanterns for much longer…”

_ Well, almost everyone _ , Elsa thought, looking to her son and nephew with amusement.

“It  _ burned  _ me, Tom,” Christopher exclaimed, glaring with trepidation at the lantern in his cousin’s left hand.

“You weren’t holding it right!” scoffed Thomas. “Plus, these are meant to be held with two hands?” He voiced it like a question, gesturing to the people around them—though rather awkwardly, as his hands were already occupied.

Abruptly, the hubbub of the crowd died to a reverent silence. On the balcony above, the figure of Queen Rapunzel slowly appeared over the railing, her crystal tiara glimmering with the light from the sea of lanterns below. At her side was Prince Warner, a lit match in hand. Rapunzel began to speak, and the party guests listened with rapt attention as she retold the tale of woe of her stolen childhood and the daring adventure that culminated in her rescue from Gothel’s tower.

At the end of the tale, King Eugene stepped forward. He extended his arms in front of him, as if inviting an embrace from the audience. He took a deep breath.

“ _ By the light of these lanterns may we remember that hope and love will forever prevail over greed and evil. May they join the stars above and look over our son, guide him, protect him. May nothing ever take our Warner from us. _ ”

Prince Warner stepped up to the lantern at the head of the balcony, inserting his match to the wick underneath. With a flare of light, the lantern ignited from within, slowly drifting from its pedestal and hanging suspended in the air before the balcony. A collective gasp rose from the courtyard, the eyes of the crowd alight with anticipation.

Elsa stared transfixed as the flickering light rose into the sky, like a fallen star returning to its place among the heavens.

_ As much a symbol of loss as a beacon of hope… _ The thought came unbidden to her mind.

Around her, the people let their lanterns go as well, gently nudging them into the sky where they rose up after the first lone star. Elsa gazed at the lantern in her own hands, its light still grounded by her grasp.

_ May hope and love forever prevail over greed and evil. _

She looked to her family around her. Anna had already relinquished her hold of her lantern, watching it fly up with a euphoric grin plastered to her face, pinpricks of light reflected in her eyes. Her sister didn’t know it yet, but Kristoff was already behind her, arms moments from pulling her into a tender embrace. Beside them, Annabeth giggled as Thomas forced a lantern into Christopher’s hand with a resolute shove. With an indignant yelp, the older boy let go of the lantern and the speck of light quickly floated away into the night. A bittersweet smile touched the Queen of Arendelle’s lips.

_ We’ve come so far from the storms of the past. May nothing ever separate us. May nothing ever take my family from me. _

With that silent wish, another lantern rose to the stars.

* * *

Nicolai Osmont took his job very seriously. As a member of the Queen's private guard, he was sworn to put the royals' lives above his own, to sacrifice himself without hesitation should any threat come to them. Nicolai understood the gravity of his duty, and he embraced it. He had been but a boy during the Great Freeze, terrified like the rest of the citizens, but watching his new Queen skillfully steer the kingdom to greater and greater prosperity in the months and years that followed had melted his feelings of fear and distrust as surely as the Queen had melted the snow. When he saw the recruitment poster for the Royal Guard, he had jumped at the opportunity without hesitation.

That was almost five years ago.

Nicolai's watchful eyes scanned the dimly-lit hallway. He had been assigned the bedchamber post for the night. He didn't mind the long hours, but he couldn't help but feel this extra detail was a bit redundant after the ball. His charge had been out and about the entire day. Surely any danger had long since been averted.

His eyes settled upon the translucent suit of armour standing on the other side of the door to the Crown Prince's bedroom.

"Anything out of the ordinary?" The empty helmet from which the voice emanated tilted in a questioning gesture.

"Nothing new to report," Nicolai replied. He straightened his posture, suppressing the urge to refold the collar of his uniform.

Nicolai had known full well of the Queen's unique abilities even before he began his duties as a Royal Guard, as did most of the kingdom of Arendelle. He had not, however, suspected that the Crown Prince would share his mother's control over the winter elements. Even after half a decade, the boy's powers still caught him off guard. The knight of ice standing beside him now was perhaps the most startling example.

_ Ping. _

A metallic clatter rang out from down the hallway. Nicolai's head snapped in the direction of the sound, squinted eyes struggling to pierce the gloom.

"What was that?" he hissed, a hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

"Allow me."

The living suit of armour was already moving down the hallway, its footsteps echoing off the marble floor like small peals of thunder. Nicolai winced.

_ If anyone's down there, they know they've been spotted now… _

His gaze flitted from wall to wall, looking for any sign of a trespasser. The icy knight rounded the corner, its footsteps fading as it continued down the hall. After a long moment, Nicolai allowed the pent-up breath in his chest to escape.

Probably just a draft. Maybe vermin.

Suddenly, movement registered in the corner of his vision. A hooded figure had emerged into the hallway. The figure locked eyes with Nicolai, flicking an arm out from behind in a swift motion. Nicolai moved to draw his sword, to shout words of warning.

There was a soft whistling sound, then something struck him in the chest. Cold, sharp pain exploded through his body. He felt himself falling, but strong, fast arms caught him, lowering his body to the ground. He opened his mouth to call out, to scream, but a rough, calloused hand appeared around his mouth. He could only watch as his own blood seeped out onto the checkered tiles of the floor, swallowing the black-and-white pattern in a sea of red.

Everything went dark.

* * *

_ Everything is grey. An opaque, soupy fog that makes it impossible to see more than a metre in front of him. The familiar sound of lapping waves presides in the background, the ground beneath him swaying with a steady rhythm… _

_ No, not ground. Deck. _

_ The mists abate some, revealing a great mast rising up not far to his right. There come the gruff voices of sailors, carrying an undertone of uneasiness. Shapes of men separate from the fog, some running, some climbing, all seeming in great haste. _

_ A chill wind cuts through his meagre tunic. He shivers. _

Strange. The cold never bothers me…

_ The wind picks up, whistling as it flies through the rigging, ripping away the obscuring veil of fog. He finds himself aboard a strangely familiar galleon. The skies are black overhead. There is a flash. Thunder. The crash of the waves becomes more urgent. _

_ A pitter-patter registers in his ears. The pound of rain onto wooden planks. Fat, heavy drops of water land upon his face, his shoulders, dripping down his back. He shivers again. The shouts of the deckhands crescendo to a panicked cacophony. The skies roar, the lightning blinding, the thunder mocking. _

_ A swell hits the bow, white-flecked foam washing across the deck. The wind no longer whistles; it howls, the rigging groaning in protest. _

Hurricane _ , comes the fearful cry. _

_ He grabs hold of the mast as an even larger wave smashes into the hull. The entire ship lists to the side. Men fall screaming into the abyss. _

_ BOOM! _

_ There is a searing flare from directly above him. A bolt flies down from the heavens, impossibly bright. The mast explodes, flaming splinters falling all around him. He is knocked across the deck by an invisible force, his shirt smoking. _

_ The canvas is falling, falling, enshrouded by brilliant tongues of fire. _

Fump.

_ The pungent smell of melting lacquer. The planks are ablaze. He runs. The heat licks at his legs. _

_ The other masts are aflame now. They crack. They fall. Blazing forms of men writhe among the wreckage. Ropes snap, the whiplash cutting sailors in half. Screams of agony fill the air. _

_ The deck tilts once more. The flames subside some. The wind dies altogether. A mountain looms portside; a mountain of water, crested with white. The tilting does not stop this time. Now he is falling. His body meets the sea just as the monstrous wave comes crashing down- _

* * *

Suddenly, something pierced the veil, poking at his awareness. A sensation upon his face; the touch of coarse, calloused skin on his own. Instinct dragged his consciousness from the black waters of the dreamworld, forcing Thomas awake with an unshakeable sense of unease.

_ Leave me alone _ , he tried to say, but a hand was covering his mouth and nothing but garbled mumbling made it past the suffocating palm. He shook his head this way and that, but to no avail.

A new sensation. Something cold and smooth, resting on the skin of his neck. Cold and sharp, pressing against his throat, cutting into his skin, and it hurt, it  _ hurt _ …

The drunkenness of sleep sloughed from Thomas in an instant. His eyes snapped open, taking in the dark, hooded figure looming over him. One of its hands still clamped firmly over his mouth, and in the other the young prince could make out a glint of steel in the faint moonlight. Where annoyance had been only moments before, fear now flooded into its place in Thomas' mind—a primal terror so powerful it threatened to consume him completely.

That was a dagger at his throat, already stained red with his own blood.

He was going to die.

The fear was like a cinder burning at his core, too hot to be contained. His heart pounded against his chest; his breath came fast and staccato in his panic. He could feel the ice within him, an unstoppable tide of dangerous magic, begging for release.

For once, he loosed the reins, screwing his eyes shut. The power leapt from his body, cascading outward in a frigid wave. He felt the bedding harden as it frosted over and froze beneath him. He heard the crackling of the racing ice, felt the air of the room become bitterly cold.

He felt both hand and blade abruptly leave his skin. He heard deafening splinters of wood, groans of twisting steel. Thomas opened his eyes.

Where once soft bedsheets had covered his body, now wicked spears of ice thrusted outward from him, encasing him in a protective cocoon from the chest down. But that had not been the reason for the assassin's sudden retreat.

In what remained of the doorway stood Sir Gingivere, the doorknob crushed in one icy fist like so much tinfoil. The wreckage of the door lay in pieces at the knight's feet. For a brief moment, the suit of armour stood frozen, visor fixated at Thomas—at the scarlet that dribbled from his charge's neck. Then, with inhuman speed, the knight whirled to face the hooded intruder. Sword slid from scabbard with a dull ringing of ice.

No expression showed through the empty helmet; no words emanated from beyond the visor. Methodically, mercilessly, the icy guardian bore down upon the assassin, swinging his blade with force enough to rend steel. And rend it did. The hooded man had sunk to a half-crouch, raising his own dagger in an attempt to deflect the blow. But the stiletto was no match for the icy sword. The brittle blade of the dagger shattered with the impact, shards of metal scattering across the bedroom floor.

But the intruder was fast. The hooded figure rolled under Sir Gingivere's follow-up swing, deftly leaping to his feet when he had passed out of range of the knight's blade. Rising, the intruder swept back his arm, and Thomas saw the glint of yet another blade slide from the sleeve and into the assassin's hand.

As if sensing Thomas' gaze, the intruder turned his hooded head toward the young prince—and froze. The assassin took a small step back, staring and staring at the spears of ice erupting from Thomas's bed. As if only then noticing the cold, the man gave the slightest of shivers.

_ He doesn't know, _ Thomas realized with a start.  _ He doesn't know I have magic. _

But even facing the supernatural, the dogged agent of death would not be dissuaded. Reorienting himself with a shake of his head, the assassin turned to meet Sir Gingivere's relentless attack. Ducking under his adversary's lunge, the intruder aimed a vicious kick at the knight's back, using the guardian's own momentum to unbalance him. The suit of armour crashed to the floor with a mighty thud, momentarily disabled as he fought to get his heavy body back on its feet.

The assassin wasted no time. Determined eyes glaring straight at Thomas, the man snapped back his arm, knife held at the tips of two fingers. The young prince's eyes widened.

But, in that final moment, the intruder's hand gave a little tremor.

_ He's scared of me! _

A sudden calm overcame Thomas. In that instant, he understood the power he held. He wasn't the only one who would know fear tonight.

This would not be the night of his death.

Thomas raised his hand, brow furrowed in concentration. A blinding bolt of pure magic flew from his fingertips, fuelled not by fear, but by grim determination. The blast arced through the air, impacting the throwing knife before it could leave the assassin's hand, the blue-white energy crackling up the length of the blade like cold lightning. The knife shattered, frosted shards flying asunder. The man screamed in agony, clutching at his arm, the fingers of his left hand quickly turning a sickly purple.

Weaponless, defenseless, the crippled assassin could only watch as Sir Gingivere mechanically rose to his feet, striding toward him with translucent sword raised for the kill, each footfall a peal of thunder.

At least, the assassin appeared to be weaponless.

Suddenly, abandoning his injured arm, the man reached into the folds of his long coat. In his other hand, he produced a long metal contraption, carved steel flaring at the end like some miniature trumpet. With a last defiant glare, the assassin faced Sir Gingivere, leveling the device at the knight.

"Fuck this," the man spat.

A deafening bang reverberated off the bedroom walls. Thomas saw Sir Gingivere knocked off his feet by an invisible force, collapsing to the floor, sword sliding from his grip with a dull thump. Whirling to the decimated doorway, the young prince found nothing but a cloud of acrid smoke. The assassin was gone.

Finally finding the strength to rise, Thomas leapt from the bed, running to the side of his felled guardian. A spiderweb of fractures surrounded the smoking hole in the knight's breastplate. For a moment, the young prince feared his creation's life force had been shattered. He placed his hand upon Sir Gingivere's helmet, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

But no. The living magic within the ice still burned bright; he could feel it.

Wiping the moisture from his eyes, Thomas turned his gaze to the wound in Sir Gingivere's chest. Having modeled his creation from a suit of armour, the young prince had not made the knight's body to be completely solid—there were cavities in the torso and limbs where a person could theoretically fit. The blast from the assassin's device had punctured the icy armour, but it hadn't been able to do so twice. The projectile still sat within the chest cavity, embedded inside Sir Gingivere's back armour.

Before Thomas could completely make sense of it, however, the air of the bedroom suddenly became utterly frigid. Frost arced across the walls, flurries of snow landing upon the young prince's face and shoulders. He turned to find his mother standing in the doorway still in her bedclothes, flanked by what seemed to be the entire Royal Guard, her face twisted in an expression of fear and outright panic. Elsa's ice blue eyes flitted about the chamber, growing impossibly wide as they took in the devastation before her. The icy cocoon that had become of the bed. The shards of metal littering the floor. The line of oozing scarlet upon her son's neck, so, so close to his throat...

From behind Thomas, four stark words drifted from Sir Gingivere's empty helmet.

"The assassin must die."

* * *

“What do you have for me?”

“The Duke of Weselton sent an assassin after the Crown Prince of Arendelle.”

The wind whistled gently for a few moments.

“What was his motivation?”

“We’re still working on that, sir. We’ve identified the assassin to be Marcus Everett, a rather notorious criminal in these parts.”

“Can you find him?”

“He won’t escape us, sir.”

“Good. I want him alive.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”  
“You know better than to address me like that here.”

* * *

The sun did not rise the next morning. The sky grew lighter in tinge, but it was a subtle change that did nothing to brighten the dreary, brooding grey stretching to the horizon. The clouds never wept in summer, not in the Kingdom of Corona. They wept this day, spilling forth a cold drizzle more mist than rain, casting the village in a damp shawl of misery.

Had it been any other day, the villagers would undoubtedly have been complaining about the drab landscape that had so abruptly become of the vibrancy of the day before. But this grey morning, many awoke to the stern faces of royal guards glaring down at them. The interrogations were long and unrelenting. Dwellings had been scoured in the night, pubs turned upside down. Word spread like wildfire, dark rumours of the happenings mere hours before. A knife in the Royal Palace, it was said. An assassin whose target was a visiting prince.

Not just any prince—the son of the legendary Snow Queen of Arendelle.

We are lucky to not be thigh-deep in snow, freezing to death from his mother's wrath, some whispered. After all, she's cursed a kingdom before…

This day a mere drizzle was a blessing.

The palace itself was in chaos. Upon word of the attempted murder, many of the visiting dignitaries had seen fit to immediately return to their homelands. The wee hours of the morning had seen ship after ship spewing from the harbour, fleeing into the darkness like rats from a flame, sails open to full capacity. The dull light of day saw the palace empty and lifeless, despair and fear looming in the halls like disembodied wraiths, though evidence of the event had long since been erased.

The room had been swept, the blood scrubbed from the marble, the bedding changed. Only the mutilated doorway remained, the gaping hole in the wall that stood testament to the deadly struggle the night before.

At the sixth toll of the bells, both banquet halls lay in pristine desolation. All the dignitaries who remained were congregated in the council chamber, the concentric tables scantily occupied with solemn-faced nobles, many of them wiping sleep from weary eyes. At the centre sat the monarchs of Corona, faces unnaturally sombre as they addressed the room.

"We are gathered this morning to address a situation," Eugene began, voice low and serious. "A heinous crime was committed in this palace last night, a crime for which no punishment is too harsh. It saddens me immensely that our peace should be broken so violently, that our happiness should be so suddenly taken. But the crime stands before us. We must take action to make sure such a thing can never happen here again."

Elsa gingerly brought her cup of tea to her lips. She glanced at her family around her. They were here in body, but it was as if their spirits had been completely removed. Kristoff's massive shoulders were hunched, his stare unfocused. Her niece and nephew seemed almost confused, looking around the chamber as if mildly curious, but with none of their usual energy. Even Anna, usually so radiant and boisterous, slumped dejectedly in her chair—though she gave her sister her best façade of cheerfulness when she sensed Elsa's gaze. The older sister smiled back, hoping the expression wasn't as brittle as it felt.

"At approximately one of the clock past midnight," Eugene continued, making eye contact with everyone present, "an attempt was made on the life of Prince Thomas of Arendelle."

The King of Corona gestured to Thomas, who shrank a little into his seat under the sudden weight of a roomful of stares.

Elsa restrained herself from comforting her son. The dignitaries had to see that Thomas was strong, even in the face of calamity. Even after brushing with death's blade. Even with white gauze still fresh on his neck.

"The assassin stabbed to death the Arendellian guard at Prince Thomas' door, and was only thwarted by the efforts of another guard, who managed to drive the intruder away."

The guard's young, strong features, skin so pale, so cold. Open eyes, the life behind them long gone. Crimson staining his grey uniform, crimson trickling from the corner of his mouth, crimson pooling under the body upon the marble…

She would send letters, of course, words of comfort and condolence to the man's loved ones—but the Elsa knew it would do little to heal the wounds in their hearts. Nothing could bring him back.

_ How many more will fall protecting my family? _ Elsa shuddered at the thought.

The King leaned forward, his expression one of immense regret.

"We were unable to catch the perpetrator before he escaped from the castle walls. Our Guard is scouring the kingdom for him as we speak, but we cannot in good conscience ask any of you to stay in Corona for any longer. As such, the remainder of the festivities have been cancelled. We will be more than happy to continue to accommodate anyone who wishes within the castle, but in light of recent events we can only wish you the safest of journeys back home."

Eugene's hands were folded on the desk in front of him, his gaze uncharacteristically downcast. The other dignitaries were already beginning to rise, stepping from the chamber with carefully neutral expressions. Elsa watched them go, seeing distrust and fear reflected in many eyes.

Who had done it? Who had such a powerful vendetta against her kingdom that they would resort to assassinating the Crown Prince?

_ Thomas is unlike you, Elsa. Fear will not be his greatest enemy. His greatest enemy will be hatred. _

Elsa gritted her teeth, Grand Pabbie's prophetic words ringing through her mind. Was it some political enemy? Or was it more personal? Was someone making an attack specifically against her family?

"... Elsa? Elsa!"

Anna's voice broke her from her reverie. She looked up from the conference table to find the Coronan royals looking down at her with a mixture of pity and concern.

"Elsa, I hate to have to say this, but I don't think your family is safe here anymore. The assassin is still out there. You must set sail as soon as possible." Rapunzel's voice was soft, her eyes deep and sorrowful.

Suddenly, Anna rose from the table, rushing to the Queen of Corona and enveloping her in a hug. Rapunzel laughed, returning the embrace, but there were tears in her eyes.

Elsa looked to Eugene. The King moved to take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm so sorry, Elsa. I wish I could do more. No mother deserves to go through this."

Elsa shook her head.

"Eugene, it wasn't your fault. I'm sure your guards are doing the absolute best they can. The important part is that Thomas didn't get more seriously injured." She couldn't help but shudder again.

Eugene straightened up and let out a sigh.

"I hate for us to part like this, Elsa. I wish I could have the man thrown in prison now and be done with it. Him and whatever bastard he was working for."

Elsa forced a smile.

"We'll be safe once we get back to Arendelle. Whoever it was, they won't dare try it again."

Everyone said their final goodbyes.

The royal family slowly filed out of the council chamber. The Royal Guard quickly surrounded them as they stepped outside, clearing the streets ahead as they walked sullenly down to the harbour. The rain coalesced into sharp snowflakes as it fell around Elsa, but no one said a word.

Elsa looked over the tiled roofs of the city toward the grey sea beyond. Grand Pabbie's visions flashed anew in her mind, the red figures surrounding her son clutching weapons of murder. The snow fell thicker around her.

_ This isn't the end. This is only the beginning. _

  
  


Marcus fled, bolting down side alleys like a sewer rat, his panicked gaze sweeping every door and window. In his right hand he clutched his last throwing knife, knowing all too well how meagre his defenses were, how quickly he would fall if the guards caught up to him. His left hand was stiff and unmoving, the skin an unnatural purplish-blue, the agony under the flesh burning so cold the assassin felt as if his very bones had turned to ice.

_ What if they did? _

Horror swept through Marcus at the thought. Who knew what his target—what that  _ child sorcerer _ had done to him!

Raised voices carried to the assassin’s ears. The clop of heavy boots behind him grew steadily louder, bearing down upon his position. Marcus breathed a small sigh of relief. No sound of  _ its  _ footsteps. The monstrous ice automaton wasn’t coming for him. Not yet.

But he wouldn’t be any less dead should the royal guards get a hold of him.

He spurred his legs onward, eyes fervently searching for a route of escape from the endless maze of narrow Coronan streets that had become his death trap.

_ The harbour. _

It was his only chance. If he could get on a boat, he could escape to the mainland and disappear. Reset.

_ Thunk! _

An arrow whipped past the assassin’s face, embedding itself into the building beside him. He risked a look over his shoulder. The bowman was loading his next arrow, the four guards that accompanied him already sprinting down the street toward Marcus, swords glinting under the moon. The assassin desperately commanded his legs to pump, but his muscles were running on acid, limp and screaming with exhaustion.

He tripped over a loose tile in the street. He thudded to the ground, panting, sweat streaming from under his hood. Through blurring eyes, he saw the four men grow ever larger, their forms finally towering over his body, their four blades tickling his chin. The assassin closed his eyes, letting his knife roll from his fingers. He was defeated.

A faraway scream. Shouts of surprise. Strangled gurgles. The meaty smack of four bodies hitting the street.

Marcus cracked his eyes open once more. The felled forms of the royal guards lay around him, chests slowly rising and falling—unconscious, but alive. The assassin turned a bemused gaze upwards. Expressionless white-clad men surrounded him, each holding a narrow piece of wood in their gloved hands.

_ Blow darts. _

The crunch of boots on cobble slowly grew closer. A new figure came into view, tall and slender. The boots came to a rest mere centimetres from the assassin’s head.

“Who—who are you…” Marcus breathed, twisting his neck to get a better view of his mysterious saviour.

The figure bowed down so his face came into Marcus’s view. It was an angular face, framed by sideburns, licks of brown-grey hair casting shadow over a set of piercing green eyes and a cold, lopsided smile.

“You may call me Hans.”

Then everything went dark.


	9. A Sword of Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "The Captain of the Guard"  
> [Two Steps From Hell – "The Colonel"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_I3SY_E4fU)

Marcus awoke to darkness. He blinked in the opaque gloom, searching to no avail for some source of light. A fierce panic began to build in his chest as he realized he couldn’t move his limbs. Slowly, the walls of the room came into focus as the assassin’s eyes adjusted. He was bound tightly, strapped to a chair with thick, sturdy rope. Immediately he began to strain against its grip, but whoever had tied him up had obviously been competent at the job, and the coils proved tight and unyielding. He kicked and struggled, but soon realized its futility. He slumped defeated within his bindings.

His head throbbed with pain, a dull pound that echoed the rhythm of his heart. His entire body ached, muscles twinging in protest with every sway of the wooden planks beneath him. A faint but definite tang of sea salt lingered in the air.

_ So I’m on a ship, _ the assassin mused sourly.

This was where his greed had gotten him. Had he just taken the Duke’s initial pouch of coin and been done with it, he would still be a free man. He certainly wouldn’t be tied up in the brig of some vessel carrying him off to God-knows-where.

_ It could be worse,  _ a voice nagged at the back of his mind.  _ At least you’re not at the gallows yet. As long as you’re alive, you have options. _

Marcus strained his ears in the still air. There was nothing but the groaning of the hull. Were there even guards posted at the door? Hell, were there even sailors below decks at the moment? The captive assassin quickly grew restless. Where was his mysterious saviour, that man who called himself “Hans”? One thing was certain: Marcus wasn’t going to just sit around and wait for the bastard to show himself.

The assassin began wriggling anew in his seat, trying to loosen the coils of rope strapping him to the chair. After a few more moments, he felt the binding around his shoulders begin to slacken, allowing him some use of his arms. He kicked out, pushing against the floor with his feet to help him squirm further out of the confines of the ropes. Sweat slicked his forehead from the exertion, dripping down into his eyes, but at last he managed to pull an arm free, blood rushing back into the limb in a flurry of pins and needles.

Marcus gasped as a searing pain suddenly flared in his hand. It was only then that he realized he had freed the wrong arm. Helpless to stop them, the assassin’s eyes wandered down his tattered sleeve. He found the fabric cut short at the elbow. The end of his arm was concealed in layer upon layer of white bandages, tapering off to a stub. Waves of nausea threatened to overcome him. There was no room in those bandages for fingers.

His hand was gone.

He screamed, a keening cry of pain and disbelief. Almost immediately, footsteps sounded outside. The click of a lock being opened registered vaguely in Marcus’ ears. The iron-framed door slammed open, revealing two heavily-built men in sailor’s uniforms.

“Someone alert the Spymaster!” one hollered over his shoulder. “The prisoner’s awake!”

Marcus jerked against the ropes that still bound him, half-crazed in his panic.

“My hand. What the  _ fuck  _ did you bastards do to my hand!”

Spittle flew from the assassin’s lips, his body straining all the more fiercely against his bonds. The sailors marched forward, unfazed, swiftly pinning the assassin’s free arm to his side. Marcus twisted uselessly in their vice-like grip.

“Take your bloody hands off me! I’ll decorate the floor with your innards!”

“Now, now. That’s no way to treat my men.”

The voice was low, quiet even, but something in its tone compelled Marcus to cease in his movements. It was only then that he noticed the figure standing in the shadows of the doorway.

“And who the hell are you?” the assassin growled, anger still simmering within his heaving chest.

In response, the figure stepped closer through the gloom. Marcus’ eyes widened in recognition, then just as quickly narrowed.

“Hans.”

The man laughed, soft and cold.

“So you do remember me. That’s good. The sedative didn’t cause any lasting harm.”

The assassin tried not to dwell upon the implications of that statement.

“Where am I?”

“You’re aboard a ship, sailing away from Corona.”

“Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

Hans chuckled, shaking his head. “Not even a word of thanks for your timely rescue?”

Marcus glared up at his captor. “In the hands of the Guard, I knew what awaited me. With you, I’ve not a clue.”

Hans laughed softly, as if the assassin had made a clever joke. He gestured dismissively to the two men holding Marcus.

“Leave us.”

The hands released their grasp, dropping the assassin back into his chair. The men silently exited the hold, their footfalls fading into the distance as the door swung shut behind them. Hans turned back, his eyes suddenly as hard and sharp as steel.

“Your employer played quite the gambit when he hired you. Are you familiar with the Queen of Arendelle?”

“I’ve… heard of her, yes,” Marcus replied.

The man must have sensed the wariness in the assassin’s tone, because he gave a mocking laugh.

“Oh, Mister Everett,” he said with a condescending tilt of his head. “There’s no need for that. I know whom you were sent to assassinate. In fact, it’s the reason I rescued you from the Coronan authorities. You see, Queen Elsa is not someone to be trifled with. The death of her son would have been… catastrophic.”

“Is her kingdom that bloody powerful?” Marcus scoffed.

Hans gave the assassin a strange look.

“You don’t know,” he stated after a pause.

Marcus was beginning to get infuriated.

“What do I not know?” he demanded.

The other man raised an eyebrow.

“I apologize for your hand, by the way. The doctor did his best, but in the end we had to amputate everything up to the wrist.”

It was all Marcus could do not to lash out at Hans’s maddeningly calm face. His body trembled anew with rage and sorrow.

“You are lucky not to have lost your whole arm, you know. The doctor had never seen frostbite so severe before.”

Marcus froze.  _ Frostbite? _

Memories flashed through his mind. The relentless ice golem. The translucent spikes thrusting up from the bed. The bolt of light leaping from the boy’s fingers, carrying with it agony more intense than anything he had ever known.

The purple, shriveled skin of his left hand.

“That boy… struck me with something,” he told Hans hesitantly.

The man laughed cruelly. “Oh, I’m sure he did. You couldn’t kill the boy, could you?”

The assassin bared his teeth. “Are you calling me weak?”

Hans’s expression was impassive. “The moment the prince awoke, you stood no chance. Tell me, have you heard of the Snow Queen?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Then you are one of the few.” The man turned heel, striding around Marcus’ chair. “She is an individual who commands the winter elements, who can shroud the land in blizzards and snowstorms at a mere whim.” Hans stopped, face centimetres from the assassin’s, a mocking smile playing about his lips. “You were the poor unfortunate sent to kill her son.”

For a moment, Marcus just stared back at his captor.

“You’re serious. The Queen of Arendelle is… is a bloody  _ witch?” _

The statement felt absurd even as it left his mouth. In reply, Hans simply gestured to the bandages enrobing what was left of the assassin’s hand.

“There is ice in the blood of their royal line,” he stated. “Dark magic whose origins are unknown.” The man paused, as if contemplating his own words.

The faceless knight of ice returned to Marcus’s mind. The grim expression upon the boy’s face as he extended his fingers.

_ Dark magic… _

Marcus shivered.

Abruptly, Hans spoke again.

“Your employer was planning on betraying you, you know.”

Marcus was silent. Hadn’t he always known it to be a possibility? Yes. Known, but never considered. The glint of coin had blinded him, brought him damn close to destruction.

Hans studied him closely. After a moment, he pulled away, shadows veiling his face once more.

“You understand now the power the Snow Queen wields. The potential threat she poses. You understand why we couldn’t leave you in the wrong hands.”

The man’s silhouette drew toward the door.

“Wait!” Marcus cried. “Who are you? Where are you taking me!”

Hans’s gentle laughter reverberated from the walls.

“The Southern Isles, Mister Everett.”

The door closed with a thud.

* * *

“We cannot protect him forever, Elsa.”

In the short several days after the family’s homecoming, the King of Arendelle had grown sullen and distracted. They all felt it; the very halls seemed saturated with Henrik’s obvious despair at his son’s brush with death. Elsa often found her husband sitting motionless at his desk, gazing out the window, eyes glazed, heavy brows locked in thought.

But she knew better than anyone that Henrik was not one to merely sit about and mope.

She had dreaded this discussion for days. Yet, when it came, she was still caught off guard.

“What are you saying, dear?”

Henrik stared back at her for a long moment. Then, he took a deep breath.

“What was it that the old troll said? ‘His enemy will be hatred’. What if he wasn’t talking about Thomas’s own emotions? What if that hatred is the hatred of others?”

Elsa frowned. “You’re saying whoever sent the assassin after our son did so out of hatred? Hatred alone?”

Henrik’s gaze sharpened to almost frightening intensity.

“It certainly is something to think about, isn’t it? Sure, politics is often thought of as cold and emotionless, but pull the veil off the whole damned thing, and what do you have? People. And people, willingly or not, are driven by emotion! Step back for a moment. Look at our son, at his position in the world. Privileged, pampered, heir to the throne of a powerful and prosperous kingdom by mere birthright. Those alone are cause aplenty for resentment! For those few who know of his… gift, that adds fear into the mix, perhaps even envy and twisted jealousy. All volatile emotions, so easily morphed into hatred of Thomas!”

Only when he had finished his short spiel did the King notice his wife cringing under the weight of its implications.

“I’m not saying there aren’t any other potential motives that could drive someone to try to assassinate the Crown Prince of Arendelle,” Henrik amended in a softer tone. “I’m just saying that hate was a driving force behind many probable motives. Just as Pabbie said, all those years ago.”

“You’re trying to convince me of something,” Elsa stated, a hint of frost creeping into her voice. “You’re never so blunt unless you’re trying to prove a point. So get to the point already.”

“I’ve decided to send Thomas for military combat training with the Guard.”

It was as if the very air had suddenly been sucked from the room, so frantically did Elsa gasp for breath.

“ _ What?! _ ” she yelled the moment she could speak.

“We can protect him, guard him around the clock, but that cannot last forever. People make mistakes. What if something, or someone slips through again? Hatred will be his enemy! Our son must learn to defend himself. The only other option would be to lock Thomas away, and you know better than anyone else why that is not a viable option.”

“So you will teach him to fight, then? To kill if necessary?”

“Would you rather have had the assassin killed or have had Thomas fall to that villain’s blade?”

Elsa stared back at him, ice blue eyes filled with pain as she struggled with the dilemma.

Henrik sighed. “I know what you fear, love. You’re afraid our son’s powers will grow out of control, that they will consume him should he ever use them with the intent of harming another…”

“You’re going to train him to use his  _ powers?” _ gasped Elsa, aghast.

Her husband blinked. “Thomas was born with your gift, Elsa. Beautiful though it may be, I think it has applications far beyond conjuring snowmen and skating rinks.”

“You would have him use magic with deadly intent _. _ ”

“I will have him do everything in his power to protect his life and his place on the throne.” Henrik’s slate eyes locked squarely upon hers. His voice was soft but his gaze was hard as steel. “His powers are like any other weapon. He doesn’t have to use them for harm, but he must learn how to  _ use  _ them. Not to merely keep them at bay, not just to control them, but to know how to  _ really _ use them. Only then will he truly be safe!”

“You say that now,” whispered Elsa, “with the assumption that he can be trained. But what if one day you find him in his room, tears streaking his cheeks, his instructor run through with the icicles he couldn’t control? Or worse, one of his cousins? Or  _ you?  _ What then?”

Henrik’s firm hands gripped her arms below the shoulders.

“Elsa, stop this. If we cannot have faith in our own son, then what kind of parents are we? No one ever said it would be easy, but this is the only path. I see that now. The way to protect Thomas is to teach him to protect himself.” His hand slowly moved down to clasp her fingers delicately. His eyes softened. “But I cannot do this without you.”

Elsa held his gaze for a long moment. Then Henrik felt her body slump against his, a small sigh escaping from her lips. He held her close, burying his face in her hair.

“We will do this together,” he whispered into her ear.

“Always,” she whispered back. They held each other for a while. Finally, Elsa drew back.

“I’ll take it up with Thomas. We will train him only with his complete approval.” There was a tinge of resignation to the statement that had Henrik feeling a touch guilty over his victory.

“And I shall ask the Captain of the Guard,” said the King. “We’ll see if he is up to the task.”

Elsa gave him a small, weak smile. Then she straightened, her posture returning to its reserved norm, her confident stride betraying nothing of the embers of doubt still searing her from within. The door clicked shut behind her receding heels. Henrik stood there for a moment, then absentmindedly went to unclasp the ceremonial sabre from its frame behind his desk. He pulled the blade slowly from its scabbard, running two fingers along the gleaming steel of its side.

He did not know what it was like having magic like his son, but he did know what it was like to wield a weapon while inexperienced. He knew the frustration, the panic, the inherent danger. He also knew that, with practice, any blade could be tamed.

Could elemental powers really be any different?

* * *

_ The door to his room creaks open. He watches from his bed, frowning. Had he forgotten to lock it? He moves to rise, to explain to his visitor that it isn’t a good time, that he needs to get to sleep. _

_ But he can’t move. Something is holding him to the bed. _

_ He looks down, his heart filling with dread. He is encased in ice, a solid block that envelops his body from the chest down, locking him to the bed. He tries to thaw it, to tap into that well of warmth and safety within him, but in its place he finds emptiness. _

_ He finds fear. _

_ A hooded figure steps into the room. Shadows play about its face, revealing only the worn tip of a scarred nose and a grim, crooked smile. The figure turns its hand, revealing the gleam of a thin dagger. _

_ He struggles in vain against the ice that binds him. He feels tears of despair roll down his cheeks. The figure advances, slowly, steadily. It pauses by the bedside, turning the dagger as if to inspect it. _

_ He cries out in terror, but the figure only laughs, grabbing the back of his head with its free hand as the dagger moves for his throat— _

* * *

_ Knock. Knock. _

Thomas bolted upright, a hand snapping out instinctively toward the source of the sound. There was a deafening blast, arctic wind howling across the room like the lashing of icy whips. The knocking stopped immediately. The young prince slowly lowered his trembling arm, trying to steady his breathing after the panic of the nightmare.

_ Just a dream. It was just a dream. _

When he raised his gaze once more, he found the door of his room glazed over in a jagged sheet of ice, frost bursting outward from the doorframe like desiccated vines. Someone rattled the frozen handle from the other side.

“Thomas? Thomas, open the door!” His mother’s voice came muffled through wood and ice, filled with unmistakable worry.

Thomas screwed his eyes shut, trying to will the ice to melt away. But the warmth wasn’t there—the fear was still too powerful, blotting everything else out like a smothering blanket. He groaned in frustration, managing to force a spiderweb of cracks to spread across the frozen door. The ice splintered, raining crystal shards onto the wooden flooring. The door swung open with a bang, the hinges freed at last. His mother stood upon the other side in a flowing navy dress, her platinum hair done up in a simple bun. Her eyes widened as she took in the frost creeping up the walls, the chunks of ice slowly sliding to the floor. Finally, her gaze fixed upon her son’s.

“Thomas! Did you have another nightmare?”

Thomas paused, then nodded mutely.

“The… assassin again?”

Another nod.

Elsa rushed forward, pulling him into a fierce embrace.   
“Oh, Thomas,” she murmured, stroking his hair. “You are safe now. You’re  _ safe _ .”

Thomas could hear the tears in his mother’s voice.

“I know, Mother,” Thomas said into his mother’s soft shoulder. “I know.”

Elsa pulled back, holding Thomas by his shoulders. After a long moment, she let go with a sigh, stepping back from the bed.

“Thomas, there’s something your father and I have been discussing.” She paused, as if choosing her next words with great effort. “Ever since your powers first showed themselves, I’ve taught you how to control them, how to keep the people around you safe. But now… now things are different. You’re not just a boy. You’re the crown prince. There’s a reason we have a whole contingent of guards looking after you…” His mother swallowed visibly before continuing. “Your powers can protect you, but only if you know how to use them. That’s why your father has suggested to start giving you combat training. I… I don’t like it, Thomas, but I can’t deny it any longer. Guards can only do so much. It’s your choice.”

Thomas felt excitement tickling inside his chest. Hadn’t this been exactly what he had secretly wished for for all these years? To be allowed to use his powers for something other than making ice sculptures and geometry shapes? He would even be allowed to make weapons!

The worry in his mother’s eyes gave him pause.

“I really want to, Mother,” he replied tentatively. “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

Elsa smiled, but her eyes betrayed her feelings of uncertainty. There was a long pause. A soft inhale.

“Then it’s decided. Your lessons begin next week.”

* * *

The wooden practice sword felt heavy and awkward in Thomas’s hands. Captain Roderick of the Royal Guard stood several paces opposite him, as still as a statue in his grey uniform, one foot before the other in a stiff fencing stance. The midday sun shone down upon the inner courtyard, the leaves and ripening fruit around them melding into a kaleidoscope of early autumn colour.

“Your Highness’s first lesson in swordplay will be on stance,” his instructor stated crisply. “The difference between victory and defeat in many duels is decided by the strength of the duelers’ stances. As you are right handed, put your right foot forward. Now turn your left foot outward… good! Bend that knee slightly; it will give you the ability to strike swiftly and feint with agility.”

The Captain gave a few mock-jabs with his own practice sword, bouncing lightly on his toes. Thomas took the moment to shoot a questioning glance at his father, who merely smiled in encouragement. Sir Gingivere nodded solemnly from his position beside the King.

“Whilst in your rest stance,” the Captain continued, “hold your sword straight, and direct the point forward, like so. Don’t lean too far forward! This allows you to quickly assume an offensive or defensive posture, depending on the situation.”

The young prince tried his best to copy the way his instructor held the sword. Suddenly, the Captain darted forward, wooden blade scything down toward Thomas’s head. The young prince instinctively backed into a crouch, hastily bringing his own sword up to block—only to have his breath taken out of him by his instructor’s blunt blade slamming into his stomach. Coughing, he stumbled back, blinking in shock. He heard his father chuckle softly.

“Never take your opponent’s moves at face value!” the Captain stated sternly. “Any apparent attack could just as easily be a ruse to goad you into a more vulnerable position. For example, raising your arm-” His instructor raised his blade as if to block a downward strike. “-leaves your stomach open to attack.”

The Captain patted his abdomen. Thomas rubbed at his own midriff sorely.

“Sir…” he began slowly. “I was under the impression that this training would be for my  _ powers _ .”

His instructor tilted his head. “Oh? And who gave you that idea?”

Thomas cleared his throat self-consciously.

“Well, when Mother told me I was to begin combat training, I assumed…” His voice trailed off. The Captain waited patiently, gesturing for him to continue. “...I assumed it wouldn’t be just  _ this _ , training as if I didn’t have any magic at all.”

“It is _precisely_ that,” his instructor answered. “I was informed of the attempt on your life in Corona, Highness. In such a situation, it is critical that you know how to handle yourself in combat. Having your gift won’t be enough, not if you’re not confident in using it as a weapon. You must be sure of your abilities. You must _know_ that you can win.” Thomas saw his instructor glance briefly at his father before continuing. “You must learn to wield the simple blade before you can even begin to wield your magic in the same way. Now, let’s see that combat stance again!”

Naturally, that first session was as painful as it was frustrating. Thomas’s instructor had no qualms about viciously jabbing his pupil over, over, and over again, shouting an endless stream of advice and critique all the while. It was a bruised and exhausted boy that left the courtyard that afternoon, shoulders sagging in anticipation of the countless lessons to come. For the umpteenth time, Thomas thanked his body’s seeming inability to overheat. At least he didn’t have to worry about his newly-laundered waistcoat getting soaked through with sweat. Gerda had enough problems to deal with.

As the young prince limped down the hall, several large snowballs, one with twigs attached, came rolling from a side corridor.

“Oh, hi Tom!” Olaf’s head greeted as his torso deftly reconnected itself to his feet. “Nice seeing you here! Um, have you seen my nose, by any chance? I’ve been looking everywhere!”

Indeed, the little snowman’s face was uncharacteristically flat. Thomas, however, was too fatigued for Olaf’s antics.

“Can’t say I have,” he replied wearily. “Are you sure Sven didn’t just eat it again?”

“Pfft, he wouldn’t!” the little snowman exclaimed, waving off the idea. As if only then noticing the young prince’s stooped posture, Olaf frowned in concern. “Hey, you look  _ beat _ .”

The snowman blinked at the icicle that had suddenly embedded itself in the centre of his face.

“No puns,” growled Thomas’s retreating form from halfway down the hall.

“Okay then. What pun?” Olaf called. “And thanks for the nose!”

But the prince was already gone.

* * *

“The blade is only as mighty as its swing,” stated the Captain of the Guard, unsheathing his curved sabre from his side.

Several months had passed, with each lesson growing more difficult and rigorous than the next, and yet Thomas had yet to even touch a real sword. The setup today, however, raised the young prince’s hopes of finally being allowed to wield something more substantial than a glorified wooden stick.

The courtyard was blanketed in a light coating of late winter snow. Strewn about the cobbled floor was a quaint assortment of pedestals bearing fruits of many varieties. The Captain walked up to one pedestal and with a swift motion cut the apple sitting upon it in two. The top piece of the crimson fruit flew to land on the bricks at Thomas’s feet. His instructor stepped to the next pedestal, gutting the melon it supported with a lightning slash, its contents falling to the floor in a series of wet splats. The Captain smoothly returned to rest stance, sabre glistening with juice.

“Your Highness’s lesson today will be on swinging efficiently and effectively,” the man stated in the same solemn tone.

He couldn’t help it; Thomas burst out laughing. His instructor’s expression immediately became stern.

“Something funny?”

“No, just… Whatever did those poor fruits do to deserve  _ that? _ ” Thomas exclaimed in mock-horror, unable to wipe the mirth from his face.

The Captain bent his gaze, observing the cloudy liquid dripping down his blade. Slowly, his hard expression softened with mirth of his own. With a light flick of his sabre tip, the Captain tossed the half apple remaining on the pedestal, snatching it out of the air with his other hand and biting in.

“Now,” said the instructor, gesturing at the eviscerated melon with his apple slice, “your turn.”

Thomas shot him a confused look.

“Sir, I have no sword,” he said.

“That is your decision,” replied the Captain, taking another bite of his apple.

The young prince frowned at the cryptic words. He tried again.

“No, sir, I mean I don’t  _ own  _ a sword. Father hasn’t given me one yet. All I have is this.” He waved the wooden practice sword in the air.

His instructor merely stared back at him. “Is that so? Well, that is your decision.”

Then the answer finally dawned on Thomas. The only reason he didn’t have a sword in hand was because he hadn’t decided to give himself one.

He brought his arms together in front of him, brow furrowing in concentration. Points of magical light came to life between his fingers, swirling and dancing between them. With a gust of frozen air, a gleaming short sword crackled into being in Thomas’ hands, the translucent ice steaming in the crisp air as it coalesced.

His instructor’s eyes widened slightly at the spectacle. Roderick nodded with approval.

“In a life-or-death situation, you must make your own rules. That is what your gift allows you to do, Highness. Never allow yourself to have the disadvantage.”

The Captain set his half apple back on its pedestal, gesturing for Thomas to hand him the sword. The young prince complied.

“Hmm,” his instructor murmured, sheathing his own sabre and running a light finger over the edge of Thomas’s blade. “A good length for your size,” the Captain mused aloud. He turned to the pedestal to his left, cleanly cleaving through the squash atop it. “Seems sturdy enough,” the instructor stated, pulling the sword from the fruit’s flesh. “It should do!”

Thomas took back his icy weapon, grasping it tightly in one hand. He crouched down in the combat stance the Captain had taught him, facing the closest pedestal. Concentrating, he slashed downward at the apple on top of it with all his might. To his dismay, his swing merely chipped a large chunk off the fruit, spraying sugary juice into the air.

“Do not despair!” his instructor called. “No one ever succeeds in their first attempt, I assure you. As I said, the blade is only as mighty as its  _ swing _ .” The Captain unsheathed his sabre once more. “And the swing is only as good as the accuracy of your cutting edge.”

He brought the curved blade downward in a slow arc, stepping forward into the swing.

“The edge of your blade should be directly perpendicular to the surface of your target. In the case of something as round as a fruit, you must change your angle accordingly.” The instructor gestured to another pedestal with his sabre. “Give it another go.”

The young prince took a breath, narrowing his eyes at the melon that had become his target. This time, the icy blade cleaved cleanly through the fruit, before promptly shattering upon the hard wooden surface of the stand. Thomas held the stub that remained of his sword, blinking numbly in shock. Captain Roderick laughed.

“I think it’s safe to say you diced that melon thoroughly. Perhaps a little too thoroughly! Remember, Your Highness, even though it’s summoned by magic, your ice is still  _ ice _ . You cannot expect it to perform like steel!”

To accentuate his point, the Captain ground a shard of Thomas’ blade under his foot.

Frowning, the young prince willed his sword to mend. A new blade swiftly materialized with a crackling of frost.

“Then again, I don’t suppose that will be quite a problem for you,” his instructor amended, tilting his head. “Nonetheless, you must be careful. Trying to parry a powerful blow could end badly, should your blade fail again.” The Captain patted his pupil on the back. “Anyhow, practise makes perfect. There are squash to be slain!”

Thomas laughed aloud.

  
  


“Master Thomas, I challenged him as you suggested.”

Thomas raised his gaze from the ice block he was sculpting, leaning back from his table and grinning up at Sir Gingivere.

“Well, don’t keep me guessing! Who won?”

The knight’s helmet dropped slightly. “It is my utter dismay to announce my defeat.”

The young prince threw his arms in the air. “Aw, come on! How could you? How could your  _ pride  _ let you? I thought I created you better than this!” he exclaimed good-naturedly.

Sir Gingivere raised one finger in a clicking of armour plates.

“That man was good, Master Thomas. Loath as I am to admit to it, he was very skilled indeed. A better swordsman I’ve yet to meet in my existence! You have no idea how lucky you are to have him as your mentor.”

Thomas wasn’t quite done teasing the knight yet.

“Why, the great knight Sir Gingivere, defeated by our very own Captain of the Guard? Nations beware!”

Sir Gingivere folded his great arms over his breastplate.

“That is quite enough from you! Does not the Crown Prince of Arendelle have other matters to attend to?”

“No, but yes.” The excitement seemed to drain from the prince’s voice at the short statement. Thomas tapped the polished surface of his table, sending tendrils of light twining up his figurine. Delicate contours of frost slowly melted into existence upon the smooth surface of the ice, drawing out armour plates and a helmet.

“Say, that looks an awful lot like me!” Sir Gingivere commented.

“It’s another assignment from Mother,” Thomas replied quietly, gently moving the figurine off to the side, where several other figurines already stood. “I’m supposed to make a chess set, with each piece as detailed as possible. She said it’s meant to improve my concentration and precision.”

With a small motion from the prince’s hand, another rough humanoid shape rose out of the tabletop. Thomas sighed, clenching his fist and shattering the ice into a thousand shards. He slumped back into his chair, a tired palm to his forehead.

“What is wrong, Master Thomas?” Deep concern now coloured the knight’s tone.

Thomas did not raise his eyes.

“I just don’t understand it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “No matter what I do, how I act, I just can’t seem to… I don’t know,  _ get  _ to her anymore.”

Sir Gingivere tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Thomas sighed again.

“It just… Mother never seems genuinely  _ happy  _ when I speak to her. When I complete a sculpture or practise my powers in front of her, she only gives me this weak smile. Never any words of encouragement. Only that forced smile, and sometimes some advice. And whenever I tell her about my practices with Captain Roderick, she sort of freezes up and gets this  _ look  _ in her eyes. I…” Thomas’ voice grew almost to a whisper. “Have I done something wrong?”

Sir Gingivere patted him gently on the shoulder.

“I wouldn’t take it to heart, Master Thomas. Your mother is the Queen-Regent of Arendelle. She’s bound to have something on her mind!”

Thomas shook his head.

“It’s been over a year now since I started my combat training. In all that time, nobody’s been hurt, and I’ve only gotten better at using my powers. I just wish that she would give me some kind of sign that I’m doing something right, you know?”

Sir Gingivere nodded.

“Your training is securing not only your own safety, but the future of all of Arendelle. You are the Crown Prince, the king-to-be! ‘Tis a noble cause by my book.”

“Thanks, Sir Gingivere. I think so too.”

There was a faraway look in the young prince’s eyes.

* * *

Beyond the double doors to the crown prince’s chamber, the Queen stood alone in the cold hallway, ear pressed to the wall. Elsa turned slowly down the corridor, head bowed, footsteps hesitant and unsure. A single tear welled from her cerulean eyes, rolling slowly down her cheek. It froze before it could even hit the floor.


	10. Queen's Gambit

“Are you certain about this, Brother?”

King Mathias of the Southern Isles tilted his head, brow furrowing in annoyance.

“You should know better than to question the King, Spymaster.”

Prince Hans’s expression remained carefully neutral.

“All I’m saying is this seems a very drastic course of action. Provoking the Snow Queen is not a necessary condition for our dominance over the Duchy of Weselton.

The King of the Southern Isles scowled. “Your time in my court is quickly expiring, little brother. Have you a better idea? Speak!”

“We bring Everett to Weselton. Kick that ancient Duke off his seat after forcing him to sign a binding contract to us putting his nation under our dominion. All this under the  _ threat  _ of bringing him before Queen Elsa instead. Weselton would be subservient after that! What remains of their riches and trade networks will be ours. Where is the sense in wasting such an opportunity?”

“The actions of the Duke of Weselton two decades ago are the lasting reasons for our ill repute, Hans. They, coupled with your own failures, are the  _ only _ reasons why Arendelle is not under my control today!” A fire flared in Mathias’ eyes. “Now, that tiny  _ city _ of a kingdom is the damn centre of all trade this side of the sea! And where are we?” The King was shouting now, tendons pulled taught in his neck, his face drawn tight in a grimace of rage.

Abruptly, Hans was reminded of a scene years from his childhood. He had been afraid then, afraid of speaking out against his older brothers in case they found new creative ways of bullying him, of making his life miserable. That never stopped them, though.

To this day he remembered.

He remembered the sadistic joy gleaming in his eldest brother’s eye as he walked past him over and over again, day by day, week by week, as if he didn’t even exist. As if he hadn’t been worth enough to even acknowledge. And when fresh tears had finally begun streaming down his cheeks, that feigned ignorance had cracked to reveal a malicious smile.

But then something unthinkable had happened. Eventually, he stopped crying. After a week, he stopped seeking his brothers out. After a month, it had all become horribly clear. Little Hans wasn’t playing the game anymore.

The rage that exploded from Mathias then had taken everyone by surprise. Hans’s face was already black and splotched with bruises by the time the butler had a chance to intervene. Even after Desmond and Peter had hung their heads with the guilt of capture, Mathias did not stop. The murderous look upon his eldest brother’s face as Mathias held him by the collar, fist striking down again and again, was burned into Hans’s memory forever.

It had taken the butt of the butler’s sword to pry Mathias from the bloody mess that remained of his younger brother.

Ever since that day, Hans had known. Mathias craved control, needed it like he needed air. And by not begging and whining as his eldest brother had expected, Hans had taken that control from him. To Mathias, there existed no greater transgression.

And it was happening again. Or rather, it  _ had _ happened, two decades ago. Dominion over Arendelle, the tiny city-state kingdom that controlled one of the most important trade routes in the north, was lost to the Southern Isles now. Hans had been  _ so close _ . But he had failed. And the Duke of Weselton had been the one to undermine the prince’s cunning plan by prematurely sending his assassins after the Queen.

King Mathias of the Southern Isles never forgave.

“Weselton  _ will _ be punished for taking Arendelle from me,” the King growled, voice low and deadly. “If I can rain hell upon them, then by God, it is a hell that awaits them!”

The man’s knuckles were white upon the seat of his throne. Hans took a small step back.

“Brother, please. Listen to yourself! You would have me help you commit regicide against a peaceful nation just to destroy Weselton?”

Immediately, Hans realized his mistake. His brother rose from the throne, fury in his eyes as he glowered down from the raised dais.

“Listen well, little brother. I’ve given you a second chance, but do not think for a moment I have forgiven you for what happened in Arendelle. You failed me once. Do not fail me again.”

Hans did not need the appearance of the two stern-faced guards at his sides to know his time in the sovereign’s court was at an end.

* * *

Winter was coming. The Duke of Weselton woke one grey morning to find his study window crawling with hoar, his breath fogging in the chilly air. Instantly, the old noble’s mood darkened. Ever since Arendelle, he hated the first frost. It was too much of a premonition, a glaring reminder of how the ice was once more about to assert its dominance over the land. Winter, cold and implacable, was announcing its return. And for all the power of mortal men, not one could do anything to stop it.

_ But there is one _ , the voice in his mind reminded him. _ Two, in fact. _

The Duke gritted his teeth. In truth, it wasn’t winter he hated; it was the sense of helplessness it brought. The reminder that it served of that other, unnatural winter, that fateful summer’s eve in Arendelle.

The sovereign gazed sullenly over the frozen fields beyond his window, the frost upon the trees gleaming in the morning sun.

There came a knocking on the chamber door.

“Who is it?” the Duke called, voice still dusty with sleep. “State your name and purpose!”

In response, the door swung open, revealing a sharply dressed younger man standing on the other side.

“Good morning to you as well, Uncle,” greeted Governor Klaus, his smile contradicting with the glint in his black eyes. “Glad to see you can still get out of bed.”

The Duke gritted his teeth.

Despite having sworn his personal guard to secrecy, word had quickly gone out among his Advisory Council about his failed assassination attempt against the Crown Prince of Arendelle. Miraculously, the scandal had yet to reach public ears, but nonetheless the Duke’s power had waned significantly in the years since his return from Corona. The councilmen knew an opportunity when they saw one and had latched on to the scandal like sharks smelling blood, threatening the Duke with blackmail whenever his decisions didn’t go their way.

His nephew was the worst culprit of them all.

The Duke turned to the mirror above his sink, meticulously adjusting the toupee upon his bald head. The old noble fished his wire spectacles from the pocket of his coat, perching them upon the bridge of his nose with exaggerated slowness, before finally turning back to the doorway to look at his nephew.

“What can I help you with, little nephew? Forgotten how to button your coat? Or is it girl troubles again?”

The governor tried unsuccessfully to hide his scowl at the verbal jab.

“No, Uncle, the matter of which I need to speak with you is of considerably greater importance.” Klaus entered the study with long, purposeful strides, hands clasped behind his back. “The Council has been wondering as to the course of action you intend to take if the Southern Isles starts a conspiracy against Weselton.”

Despite himself, the Duke was taken off guard.

“Ex… Excuse me?” he sputtered. “The Southern Isles? Of what  _ conspiracy  _ do you speak?”

His nephew stared back at him as if he thought him quite dim indeed.

“Has it not occurred to you the suspicion that other nations will harbour against Weselton in the light of the… ahem,  _ event _ in Corona? You tried to assassinate a member of the Arendellian royal family once, Uncle. What’s to say you didn’t try a second time?”

The Duke’s brow knitted tightly above his squinted eyes.

“Why are you telling me this? Get to the point already!”

Klaus seemed not to hear him.

“Has it not also occurred to you that the Southern Isles shares in this suspicion due to their Prince Hans’s actions the same twenty years ago?”

“Been reading up on your history, then? What are you saying, Klaus?” The Duke stamped his foot in impatience.

Klaus groaned.

“Damn it, Uncle! How are you so blind? The Southern Isles will do everything in their power to make sure you, no,  _ we _ are the ones to take the blame for the assassination attempt. An icy hell awaits whomever that blame lands upon, and they know that just as well as you do. The Snow Queen is a weapon unlike any other, and if I know anything about King Mathias, it’s that he’ll be the first to try and use her as one!”

The Duke’s mouth hung half-open in an angry retort, but suddenly his gaze was no longer focused upon his nephew. The truth of the governor’s words had finally dawned on him.

_ Could it be true? _

The instant the question flared in his mind, the answer came smashing in like a runaway train. Of course it was true. The ruling family of the Southern Isles was cunning and sly, with little regard for the moral high ground if it meant furthering themselves in the world. He had sharpened the edge of a double-edged sword when he provoked the Snow Queen. Now his own blindness had lost his nation precious time in a race he hadn’t even been aware they were competing in.

A slow terror crept into the Duke’s mind. Weselton would be lost if he did not act.

“Nephew… Governor.” The Duke inhaled deeply. “Confound it, you’re right!”

Klaus’s face had already split in a triumphant grin.

“There will be time to gloat later!” the Duke exclaimed angrily. “We are terribly behind. There is much work to be done.” The old noble slumped at his table, hands gripping the sides of the desk. His head whipped back to his nephew, an urgent light gleaming through his spectacles. “Alert the Council promptly and leave me! I need to think.”

As the sound of the Governor’s boots receded down the hallway, the Duke’s mind was already racing with a thousand schemes. Deep in his heart, however, a cold thorn had dug itself in.

_ Marcus Everett. You are the biggest mistake I have ever made. _

* * *

Prince Joseph, Admiral of the Southern Isles Royal Navy, was on edge.

The custody of Marcus Everett was changing everything. The assassin himself proved little threat so far, as he had been secured in the deepest dungeon of the castle. But having the man at King Mathias’s disposal, at  _ Hans’s  _ disposal, was seeming more and more like throwing a whole other piece upon the board in the Southern Isles’ game against Weselton. Only, the prisoner was hardly predictable. The man was a wild card, plain and simple — the kind of contingency-breaker a military man like Joseph dreaded beyond anything else.

What made the whole situation worse thousandfold was the preposition of action. Marcus Everett was living, breathing proof of the murder attempted in Corona against the Crown Prince of Arendelle little more than two years ago. The assassin’s knowledge alone was enough to bring Weselton to its wretched knees. The prisoner was an invaluable bargaining chip. But King Mathias wanted more. The sovereign’s motives could not have been more clear :  Weselton was to be razed to the ground, decimated once and for all without any hope of recovery. And Everett was to be the fulcrum to set it all in motion.

There was only one huge problem with that plan. Queen Elsa of Arendelle was to be the lever.

Standing atop the castle parapets, gazing out over the harbor, Joseph spoke.

“Brother, I dare not say this to the King, but this plan of his, of  _ yours _ , is pure folly.”

Hans raised an eyebrow at the blunt statement from his position beside the Admiral.

“I’m hurt, Joseph,” he replied, a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I think it’s rather awfully clever.”

Joseph’s fist clenched at his side.

“The Snow Queen is the most dangerous individual in all of known Europe,” he said, his voice hard. “You of all people should understand that. Yet I heard the King is going to bring before her the very man who held a blade to her son’s throat, and then… what? To plead her mercy before she freezes us to death and leaves our ships in pieces at the bottom of Arendelle’s fjord?”

“No no, you misunderstand, Brother. Queen Elsa is much too rational to be so easily goaded. We have to  _ really  _ rile her up.” There was a mischievous glint in Hans’s eyes, but also something else. Hesitation?

Joseph’s eyes narrowed.

“So what are you suggesting, Spymaster? What’s this clever plan of yours?”

“Well, Admiral, it’s quite simple. We assassinate the Snow Queen’s husband and plant breadcrumbs at the scene pointing to Weselton,” Hans laughed. “Well, one big breadcrumb, really. The assassin. Then, we sit back and watch the show.”

Joseph stood in shocked silence. When he finally spoke again, his voice was low.

“Hans… did Mathias put you up to this? He had to have. This is madness! How could you even consider doing such a thing?”

His younger brother’s calculated facade slipped just a little. Hans gave an almost imperceptible sigh.

“King’s orders, Admiral. I’d expect you of all people to understand.”

When Hans’s eyes met Joseph’s again, they were filled with their usual cold resolve.

“I need a ship. Preferably one that can handle a little ice. King’s orders.”

* * *

Marcus Everett no longer knew night from day.

He had been trapped between the damp walls of this hellish prison for an eternity. He had been down here long enough to see the ghastly pale pallor of his skin had turned by the lamplight of the guards as they did their rounds, their hard footsteps melding with the endless dripping of the water off in the gloom. Long enough for the thought of warm cider and biscuits to be the very definition of heaven.

He hadn’t seen Hans again since that first day on the ship. The guards had put a sack over his head when they marched him off the boat, and after an uncountable number of twists, turns, and many, many stairs, he had been dumped in this cell.

If the etchings he made daily on the unforgiving stone of the walls were accurate, that had been over two years ago.

The guards fed him lukewarm gruel three times a day through a slot in the solid iron door. For the first few weeks, that had been the extent of his interaction with the outside world.  Sometimes he would hear the clanking of manacles, the deranged groans and mutters of other poor unfortunates who were brought down to share this decrepit hole.

But it was the silence that really got to him. The isolation, the paranoia, the voices in his head… 

Just as he thought he was going to go mad, the door had opened again. Guards had grabbed him by the arms, dragging him unceremoniously up the dungeon stairs.

Was he to be executed? Had that bastard Hans decided that he held no worth after all?

Marcus resisted them tooth and nail, screaming and shouting bloody murder, but the guards had remained silent and impassive. 

They forced him outside, to a narrow courtyard enclosed by high walls of fine grey brick and mortar. The sun had blinded him, but he struggled to keep his eyes open all the same, drinking in the change of scenery as if it were a physical sustenance to his body. Even from his meagre vantage point, he could see that the castle grounds were immense.

Suddenly, the guards’ purpose dawned on him.

He wasn’t being taken to his execution. He was being taken for a walk.

After that first occasion, these excursions continued with regularity. Marcus was allowed to roam tiny portions of the castle, though never for more than an hour at a time and never anywhere that allowed him a view outside the castle grounds. Nonetheless, he took advantage of every moment, scouring his surroundings and making a mental map of doors, windows, hallways. Plotting his escape, even though a large part of him knew it was futile. It was something to do, something that warranted hope.

It kept his mind off of darker things.

In Corona, he’d heard stories in the pubs. Stories of haggard men released from captivity after years of solitude and torture, their term of punishment at an end at long last. Only, one could hardly have called them men anymore. As much as Marcus clenched his teeth and told himself otherwise, he knew now that those tales had not been exaggerated. The darkness, the confinement; he could feel them like a physical presence, like wraiths glowering down at him through the tiny cell window.

It was bitterly cold in the dungeon. In those agonizing moments as he lay shivering in the corner, breath fogging the frigid air as his body tried desperately to create the warmth it needed to survive, the old pain would flare in his left hand, and the ghost of the ice sorcerer would loom over him once more. In the darkness of the dungeon, he had grown to hate the boy, to hate his former target with a ferocity he hadn’t ever imagined. He understood the Duke’s motive now. No one deserved power of that magnitude. If only his resolve had been stronger; if only his blade had been but a stroke quicker…

But even with fifty thousand Crowns hanging in front of him, he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to slay a mere boy. Now his weakness had cost him his hand. His freedom. Now, the frost prince stalked him through his very dreams.

The days blurred together, the monotony making the passage of time meaningless.

Perhaps he had been forgotten.

The door to his cell swung open. Marcus blinked at the sudden source of light, squinting at the figures in the doorway.

_ It isn’t time for my walk yet. _

Firm hands grabbed his arms, pinning him to his cot. Marcus laughed.

“Careful there, lads. I might piss on you.”

Someone else walked into the cell, a perfectly groomed man in an immaculate black coat and shining boots that couldn’t have seemed more out of place on the filthy dungeon floor. The assassin’s laughter died off.

_ Hans. _

His captor’s face was screwed into a mask of surprisingly genuine concern, one that immediately aroused Marcus’s suspicion. The man moved closer, bending down so his face was level with the prisoner’s.

“I’m so sorry for keeping you down here for so long. I… well, I know better than most what it’s like down here.” Hans smiled sympathetically. “Unfortunately, the King’s plans take time to perfect.”

“And what are your King’s plans for me?” Marcus asked cautiously. Instinctively, he scooted backward on the cot.

“I think it’s best if we talk on the way.”

Hans turned, nodding to his guards, who pulled Marcus upright and began marching him out the door. The assassin pulled at his arms angrily.

“Hans! Where are you taking me?”

His captor paused at the dungeon stairs, glancing back and meeting Marcus’s gaze.

“To Arendelle, Mister Everett.”

The assassin’s blood turned to ice.


	11. Fury

_ He cannot see. _

_ It is dark. A thick, wet fog wraps around him, saturating his clothing, chilling his skin. He walks forward tentatively, his footsteps muffled in the heavy air. _

_ His aren’t the only footsteps he hears. _

_ He feels something else moving through the darkness. Something stalking him. Instinctively, he clenches his hand. He feels the familiar cold of the hilt of his sword as he closes his fist. _

_ A force slams into his back, knocking him onto his hands. He whirls around as he feels a fist smash into his chest. He raises his sword arm in defense and feels it met by another blade. He scuttles backward on his hands, trying to escape his hunter’s reach. _

_ He hears the blade whistling down toward him again. He instinctively angles his sword to parry. _

_ He feels his sword shatter. _

* * *

Thomas awoke to find himself drenched in cold sweat. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the covers off his body in a single swift motion, wincing at the creaks of complaint made by his frozen sheets. He sat on the edge of his bed, back heaving with heavy breaths.

That fateful night in Corona was almost three years behind him. Almost a thousand nights had passed since. Yet the figure of the assassin still loomed like a spectre in his subconscious, pouncing when his mind was idle or fatigued.

The nightmares haunted him like a plague.

He glanced over at the grandfather clock on the wall.

_Almost six o’clock. Practice in an hour._ _Might as well grab some breakfast before heading down_.

He sighed. Gerda was going to throw a fit at the state of his bedding once she found out.

He quickly changed out of his bedclothes before leaving his room, carefully closing the door behind him. He found Sir Gingivere standing at his usual post by the doorway. The knight tilted his head quizzically as Thomas brushed by, noticing his charge’s grim demeanor.

“Ah… another nightmare, Master Thomas?”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” the prince muttered.

The palace was still steeped in the lethargic calm of the night before. The kitchens, however, were already bustling with activity. Thomas leaned in the doorway with an apologetic smile.

“Could I grab a bit of whatever’s for breakfast? I have training with the Captain in an hour.”

Noticing the presence of the Crown Prince, the kitchen hands paused their work and bowed hastily. The chef on duty smiled, filling a small crystal plate with bread and smoked meats.

“Of course, Your Highness. Don’t eat too much, now—not if you’re going to a lesson with Captain Roderick!”

Thomas accepted the platter with a laugh. “I learned that lesson a long time ago.”

The chef smiled again and bowed before disappearing back inside the kitchen.

Thomas walked down the hall and turned into the dining chamber. He sat down at the long, empty table, picking absentmindedly at his food as he thought of the ordeal ahead.

* * *

The winter sun gazed coldly down from a clear blue sky, illuminating the polished cobblestones of the courtyard in a sharp white glow. Captain Roderick stood opposite Thomas, dressed in a light tunic despite the chilly air. His hands were behind his back, his eyes fixing a stern gaze upon his pupil.

“Today will be a bit of experiential learning,” Roderick began gruffly. “For the past months, I have taught you to wield the sword: how to stand, how to swing, how to block. Now it’s time to put it to the test.”

The Captain pulled his hands from behind his back, revealing the familiar wooden swords from Thomas’s first lessons. He threw one to the prince, who caught it deftly. Roderick smiled.

“Simple rules. First one to land a hit wins.”

Thomas barely had a chance to register the words before his mentor was upon him, slashing downward with terrifying speed. The prince tucked into a roll, hearing the wooden blade whoosh by his ear. He leapt upright in time to parry his mentor’s second blow, backpedaling to avoid the next swing.

The Captain ran at him, an intent gleam in his eye. Thomas leapt to the side, circling his mentor warily.

“Come on now! Are you really so afraid of me?” The Captain twirled his practice sword mockingly.

Thomas gritted his teeth and lunged. He regretted the impulse immediately. His mentor easily caught his swing, twisting their interlocked swords until his arms were turned to a painful angle. A fist crashed into his gut, doubling him over as he struggled for breath.

He felt a light tap on his neck from the Captain’s blade.

“You lose!” Roderick’s voice was hard. “Get up!”

Thomas struggled to his feet, breathing hard.

“Not… not fair! I… I thought we were using our swords?”

“Nonsense! Do you think a real assailant would care about sportsmanship? It is a matter of life or death, Highness!”

Roderick raised his sword. “Again!”

The Captain didn’t wait for a reply. Thomas barely had a chance to leap backward as his mentor’s blade swiped inches from his midriff. Roderick darted forward, slashing again and again. Thomas staggered under the barrage.

“Back! Parry! That’s it, keep at it!” There was a fierce glint in the Captain’s eye.

Thomas ducked under another swing from his mentor, chest heaving with exertion. He straightened himself, pouncing forward in an attempt to land a hit, but Roderick stepped aside with the speed of lightning, making his pupil trip from his own momentum. The Captain wasted no time, swooping low with a swift jab and landing Thomas flat on his back.

Roderick clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Your frustration has made you too aggressive! You overextended and left yourself poorly defended. Real combat is not a game. You are forever the defender, Highness. Fight conservatively! Let your opponent make the mistakes.”

The man extended a hand to the fallen prince. Thomas took it slowly, pulling himself back to standing with difficulty.

“Had enough already?” His instructor’s eyes gleamed with teasing light.

“Enough? Never!” Thomas replied with a tight grin, trying to steady his staccato breathing.

Roderick nodded, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a knowing smile. The man sank back into his combat stance. Thomas did the same.

“En guard!” the prince cried, darting forward to cleave at his mentor’s flank.

“I’ve hardly taught you actual sport fencing,” the Captain commented, the wooden blade of his training sword already blocking his pupil’s jab. “After all, it’s only marginally useful in real combat.”

The prince was too busy dodging his mentor’s fierce counterattack to reply. He quickly retreated from another blow, suddenly reversing direction and springing forward in a wild lunge, attempting to catch his adversary off guard. He saw a glimmer of surprise in his mentor’s eyes as his arm jarred with the impact of his sword upon the flat of the Captain’s blade. Thomas swiftly directed his instructor’s hasty parry downward, turning his chest in preparation for the finishing swing.

But the Captain was faster. Flinging his body forward in a devastating slide, the man used his feet like a wedge against Thomas’ legs. The Captain became the fulcrum; the prince, the lever. There was nothing Thomas could do to stop himself from somersaulting over his mentor’s shoulder and slamming into the hard brick of the courtyard. The impact sent a shock of numb pain up his spine, knocking the air from his lungs.

“Did you not hear me the first time? Too aggressive!”

The Captain walked over calmly, raising his wooden sword for the final blow.

For a moment, Thomas considered giving up. He was worn out, sore in every joint and probably well bruised. Admitting defeat to his instructor would be a small price to pay for respite from this toil… 

_ This is not a game. _

With a strength he didn’t know he had, the young prince rolled into a crouch, diving out of the path of the Captain’s blade. Legs nearly buckling with the strain, Thomas forced himself upright, only to stare down the tip of his mentor’s sword. He tried to back away, but his limbs were like lead pipes, landing him flat upon the floor once again. The tip of the practice sword moved relentlessly closer, mere centimetres from his nose.

Roderick’s moustache was curled in a goading smile.

As he desperately scrambled across the cold cobblestones, Thomas felt a slow pressure building in his chest. Suddenly, he was back in the sweltering Coronan night, a far more sinister figure looming over him, a far more deadly blade kissing his skin. He skittered backward on all fours, an animal panic beginning to rise within him.

But there was something else this time. Something fiery and delicious, sending power surging through his limbs, casting everything into terrible clarity.

_ I will not be defeated _ .

There was a moment of deafening silence as the very air seemed to freeze. Then, a clap like the lashing of a thousand whips, the blast resounding off the courtyard walls as arctic gales howled across the once-tranquil courtyard. Through the screaming wind, Thomas heard a bellow of shock, tinged with unmistakable fear.

Abruptly, there was nothing but ice beneath him, exploding outwards from his outstretched hand in jagged fractals of destruction. Snowflakes and fragments of frost swirled in a vortex around him, obscuring his vision, catching in his hair and blowing it into wild shapes. There came an even louder crack from under the prince’s feet. His ears popped as he felt the ice shift under his feet, launching him upward.

For a moment, it was as if he could  _ feel  _ the ice, feel its hunger as it consumed the air, the wild, primal power of the storm coursing from his very blood.

A stern, familiar voice carried to Thomas’ ears in the chaos, straining to be heard above the roaring maelstrom.

“ _ Your… Highness… THOMAS! STOP! _ ”

The raw authority in the Captain’s voice snapped him from his haze. Thomas blinked, looking at the storm around him, only then really seeing what he was doing. One by one, the snowflakes in the air froze in their motion, revealing the courtyard beyond.

Or, what was left of it.

He stood atop a dizzyingly tall pillar of jagged ice. Below, frozen waves thrust outward from him like ripples from some massive stone, each of them topped with wicked stalagmites. The stones of the courtyard floor had been torn apart, filling the gaps between the icy palisades with a sea of grey rubble. At the edge of it all stood the Captain of the Guard, sword arm raised in futile defense, staring up at his pupil in awe.

Abruptly, a wave of crippling fatigue overcame Thomas, staggering him under its weight. He swayed on unsteady limbs, teetering as his legs went limp beneath him. At that moment, the hard ice of the pillar seemed as soft as any bed. The frantic shouting of his mentor registered in his ears, but he didn’t have the energy to make sense of the words.

Powerless to stop them, Thomas’ eyelids drifted shut as the sweet darkness enveloped him.

* * *

“This is too much. It is as she feared.”

“Your Majesty, you weren’t there. Yes, it was terrifying, but it was  _ magnificent _ . It was like witnessing the Queen’s palace up on the North Mountain for the first time, only more…  _ raw. _ He was a god up on that tower, Henrik. If that is what he has become capable of, isn’t it a sure sign the training is working?”

“This kind of behavior is what we wanted to prevent!” The King took a deep breath, voice growing low and insistent. “Have you forgotten the Eternal Winter? The terror of the people, Elsa’s own horror?”

“ _ Was  _ the intent to prevent this? Thomas is not the Queen! Where Her Majesty had fear, he has assurance, purpose,  _ control _ . He can conquer his magic, become its master, have it bend to his will! This is but the beginning, Your Majesty. Soon, nobody will ever be able to touch him again!”

For a moment, there was quiet. Henrik spoke again.

“I hope you’re right, Roderick. I want this just as badly as you do. But there’s a reason we dub it magic. None of us really understand it.” The King sighed, stroking his forehead wearily.

“I’ll talk to Elsa.”

A door clicked shut.

* * *

The first sensation that Thomas registered was the comforting weight of soft, familiar sheets upon his skin. The next was the touch of cool, slender fingers grasping his own. The young prince opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the powerful aches flaring in every muscle as he turned his body. His mother sat at his bedside, loose hair tumbling in platinum waves from her forehead. Her blue gaze locked with his, and she smiled delicately. But the lines of red streaking his mother’s eyes told the truth.

She had been crying.

“Glad you’re awake,” his mother whispered.

“Mother, what… what happened?” the young prince asked groggily, swallowing to clear the thickness of sleep from his throat.

“Well… you’ve been asleep for a long time. Also… I think we’ll be needing to re-pave the courtyard.”

Thomas couldn’t help but wince as the memories flooded back into his mind.

“Mother, I’m… I’m sorry. This… this is exactly what you were afraid of.”

“Oh, no, no. You showed enough concentration, enough  _ control  _ over your magic to stop yourself before you could truly hurt someone. It’s reassuring.” Elsa’s thumb gently kneaded the top of her son’s hand, but her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil.

Thomas closed his eyes. “Mother, I see now, I see why you didn’t want me to train with Captain Roderick. You were afraid of this.”

His mother said nothing, but her grip upon the prince’s hand tightened noticeably.

“I looked at your chess pieces,” she said after a moment of silence. “They’re beautiful.”

Thomas forced a laugh. “Just small versions of Sir Gingivere. I haven’t even gotten to the queens yet.”

“You do that. After all, they’re the strongest pieces on the board.”

At that moment, there came a rapid knocking on the other side of the doors.

“Come in,” Elsa said softly.

The doors swung open to admit Olaf’s disembodied head, rolling into the room in a flurry of snowflakes. The snowman’s eyes stared up at Elsa and Thomas as his head ground to a stop.

“Don’t ask,” he whispered loudly. In spite of everything, a smile crept across Thomas’s face.

“He’s awake!” Olaf’s head shouted out to the open doorway.

Immediately, the entirety of Anna’s side of the family tumbled into Thomas’ bedroom, his aunt herself at their head. Olaf’s hindquarters bobbed in the rear of the group.

“Tom!” his aunt exclaimed, wrapping him in a tight embrace. “Thank goodness you’re alright!”

“Just tired,” Thomas mumbled, self-conscious despite everything. “It’s nothing.”

Christopher chuckled. “Nothing! Tell that to Captain Roderick. Heck, tell that to the  _ courtyard! _ ”

Thomas felt his mother wince beside him. He shot his cousin a stern look.

“I didn’t  _ mean  _ to cause property damage,” he said evenly. But Christopher was wiggling his eyebrows in such a ridiculous manner that Thomas could not remain upset at him. He barked out a laugh.

“Fine, maybe I meant it a little.”

“But the Captain’s such a nice man!” Annabeth exclaimed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The dreamy look in her eyes only had Thomas laughing harder.

“If you think he is  _ nice _ , you’re dead mistaken, dear sister. That man is pure evil.”

He glanced at his mother again out the corner of his eye. Her posture was as perfect as always, but her icy eyes were unreadable.

“But maybe he didn’t  _ quite _ deserve a storm thrown at him,” Thomas added in a quieter tone.

“That  _ was  _ pretty intense,” said Olaf, head now on its proper perch atop his torso. “It was like a little piece of Elsa’s old storm on the fjord! Only more… spikey.”

Thomas blinked. “You were watching?”

“Of course!” the snowman replied, as if the answer were obvious. “I watch all your classes. You’re getting really good! Maybe one day you’ll actually beat Captain Roderick!”

“Olaf gets bored,” Christopher explained with a shrug. “Not much for a snowman to do these days, apparently.”

Thomas could think of no response to that. The flimsy atmosphere of cheer that had flared during the cousins’ conversation quickly wilted in the cold silence.

“Food?” Thomas blurted, in an effort to keep the wraiths of fear and uncertainty from making their return.

“What about it?” It was his mother’s voice this time. The hint of mirth in the words lifted a weight from Thomas’s shoulders.

“I’m  _ famished _ .” Thomas searched the six walls of his room for his grandfather clock. “What time is it?”

“It’s about nine o’clock, past dawn,” Elsa replied, obviously relieved to be discussing a more benign topic.

Thomas’ eyes widened. “I’ve been out for that long?”

“You’ve been asleep for almost a day! It’s no wonder you’re hungry!”

His mother gave him a warm, comforting smile.

“I’ll go to the kitchens and see what’s left from breakfast.”

And with that, his mother was gone.

Thomas tried to lift himself into a sitting position but only managed to raise his head a few inches above his pillow before his screaming muscles gave out.

Annabeth chuckled at his efforts. “Stay down, trooper. You made quite the spectacle out there. I’ve never seen so much ice other than up on the North Mountain! Remind me never to make  _ you _ angry.”

The prince’s smile turned into a grimace. His cousin’s eyes flashed with concern.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Thomas was silent for a while. When he met Annabeth’s gaze again, his tone was serious.

“I lost control, Annabeth. I was scared at first. But then… then it became more than that. I was just so determined to win!” Thomas swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“I could have killed Captain Roderick! Do you understand?”

His cousin was frowning now.

“Tom… you’ve always been in control of your powers. Are you saying you  _ wanted  _ to hurt Captain Roderick?”

Thomas shook his head helplessly.

“No, of course not! But… I just couldn’t let him win! Something about the way we were fighting just drove me over the edge. It was like… I felt like I was back in Corona again.” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Thomas, don’t.” It was his aunt this time, her voice soft and soothing. “Whatever you did out there, you did to protect yourself. Your powers are growing, just like Elsa’s did around your age. You just need to learn your new limits.”

He couldn’t help but feel calmed by Anna’s smiling face. His aunt’s hand shook his shoulder playfully.

“Besides, you can’t go worrying yourself right now. Doctor said you’re more worn out than he’s seen people after running full marathons!”

Thomas allowed himself to sink back into his pillow, closing his eyes. Still, something sat heavily in his chest.

“Is Mother cancelling my training?”

“I don’t know, Tom. But you know what?” Anna’s voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I overheard Roderick’s discussion with your dad. He wants to keep teaching you more than anything else.”

Thomas felt the corner of his mouth lift in a smile. He heard his aunt’s laughter, and before she could say another word the warm embrace of sleep had pulled him down.

* * *

It wasn’t as if Henrik had been unaware of his son’s growing potential. The magnitude of Thomas’s magic had evidently been intensifying for years now. Yet when he had actually witnessed his son’s limp form atop that tower, the courtyard lying in ruins below him, it was as if a piece of the ice had embedded itself into his very heart.  _ That _ was his son. The boy who could destroy navies, single-handedly lay siege to entire kingdoms.

The ancient troll’s words all those years ago continued to endlessly propagate seeds of worry into Henrik’s mind. There were people out there who wanted the Crown Prince of Arendelle dead. As that terrible night in Corona was testament to, with every passing moment Thomas’s life could be in mortal danger. A legion of the finest guards wasn’t guaranteed to protect his son, even within the highest castle walls.

Thomas had to be taught to defend himself. It was the only way to keep him safe.

Henrik screwed his eyes shut, burying his head in his arms upon the polished surface of his desk.

_ His enemy will be hatred…  _

His hands clenched into fists, trembling with frustration and despair.

“His birthday is coming in a week, you know,” Elsa’s soft voice whispered in his ear.

Henrik started despite himself. He hadn’t even heard her come in.

His wife’s gentle hand caressed his shoulder.

“I’ve never known you to be such a worrywart.”

Henrik squeezed his eyes shut, a sigh hissing out between his teeth.

“What are we going to do, love?” he asked quietly. “I used to blame your parents for what they did to you, but now I pity them. How can you love someone  _ so much _ , yet fear for them so dearly? Fear  _ them _ so strongly?” He shook his head helplessly. “What are we going to do? What  _ can  _ we do?”

When there came no immediate reply, Henrik looked up to find his wife’s icy blue eyes gazing intently into his own, a sad smile playing about her delicate lips.

“We give him the birthday he deserves. We invite all who we can to come to celebrate our son’s eighteenth year of life. We throw a day of festivities and help get Thomas’s mind off of yesterday.”

Henrick gazed silently over his wife’s face for a long moment. She was so stunningly beautiful in the flickering candlelight, her features seemingly not having aged a day since the day he first set eyes on her. At this point, Henrick knew it was the magic, preserving her like the ice of the northern glaciers, protecting her from the ravages of time.

Would Thomas be the same?

Somehow Elsa’s hand had found its way over his upon the tabletop, and now she gave it a light, reassuring squeeze. Her voice was softer.

“He’s growing into a man, Henrik. For better or for worse, we’re going to need to let him choose his own path soon. We have to trust that he will do the right thing when the time comes.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he replied wearily.

“Damn that troll,” he suddenly exclaimed, vehemence colouring his tone. “Damn him and his stupid prophecy! What does any of it mean? Hatred will be his enemy? What hatred? Whose hatred? Is Thomas is in danger or… or  _ is  _ Thomas the danger?”

“I know you’re frustrated, love,” Elsa interjected softly. “I’m scared, too. But we can’t let this uncertainty cripple us. Not like it crippled my parents.”

Henrik paused, breathing heavily. He grimaced at the thought.

“No, you’re right,” he returned slowly. “If we can decide on anything, it’s that teaching him to fear his powers can never be the solution.”

His wife nodded.

“So what  _ do _ we do?” she asked softly.

By her voice, the King knew she already knew his answer. Nonetheless, he took a long breath before replying.

“We keep going. We trust him.”


	12. Open Gates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "The Spymaster"  
> [ Two Steps From Hell – “Second Source” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WbdgcCRLDZ4)

The bag sat between the Spymaster and the assassin, full to bulging with its contents. It jangled faintly as the floor beneath them swayed gently on the ocean swells.

Marcus made a point to keep his gaze fixed on his captor.

“This doesn’t make any sense. You want me to just follow your boys around?”

Hans nodded, leaning back in his seat and regarding the assassin with unreadable eyes.

“Yes, it’s that simple. Stick with them, don’t get spotted. Once they finish with their mission, come back to the ship and this-” The man poked the bloated bag of coins with a lazy, gloved finger. “-will be yours, and you’ll be a free man.”

Marcus folded his arms over his chest, brow furrowing.

“It’s never  _ simple _ with these things. Why are you taking me to Arendelle?” A terrible suspicion was rising in his mind. “What’s this mission of yours?”

The Spymaster leaned forward, hands folded in front of him. Under the lamplight of the cabin, the man’s green irises seemed to glow.

“You ask an awful lot of questions, Mister Everett.”

The assassin glared back with bared teeth.

“Last time I didn’t, and it was the biggest bloody mistake of my life. Pardon me for being a little  _ cautious _ .”

Hans chuckled.

“I like you, Marcus. You’re keen, resilient, resourceful. It’s a damn shame my brother didn’t trust you to do the honours yourself.”

The Spymaster stood, carefully buttoning his coat. He smiled down at Marcus, taking a small step closer, as if about to share a secret.

“We’re going to Arendelle to kill a King.”

His captor strode out of the room, the cabin door swinging shut with the metallic sound of locking pins sliding into place. Marcus was left alone with the bag of gold. Against his better judgement, he loosened the drawstring with his only remaining hand, peeking over the lip. Royal faces etched into the metal of a thousand coins glinted mockingly up at him.

He gritted his teeth.

_ One last job. One last fucking job. _

* * *

Morning came with the glimmering gold of ice in the sunrise.

Thomas awoke early to the light tinkling of chimes in the wind. He opened his eyes slowly, a smile creeping across his face at the sight of the small chandeliers of snowflakes hanging outside each of his tall windows, jingling and fluttering in the breeze. The young prince slipped out of bed barefoot, stepping up to the windowsill, impervious to the late-autumn chill of the marble floor beneath him.

Though the vibrant leaves of the season still littered the hillsides beyond, the parapets and rooftops of the castle were all coated in a gossamer layer of clear ice, its twinkling light reflecting the fine patterns etched within. From the tips of the towers above soared spires of white frost, topped with the enormous snowflakes that had become so familiar to the people of Arendelle after twenty years. In the corner of his window, Thomas could just make out the iridescent blue that had become of the main courtyard floor, the pillars around its perimeter embellished with glistening veins of frost twining up their lengths.

_ Right, it’s my birthday.  _ Thomas grinned wider. _ Mother certainly has been busy. _

“Your Highness,” came a muffled voice from the door. “Are you awake?”

“Come in, Kai,” Thomas called.

The doors to the prince’s room swung open in unison, revealing the entirety of his family standing behind them.

“ _ Happy birthday! _ ” they sang together, smiles practically blinding Thomas with their intensity. He stared frozen at them for a moment, then just shook his head.

“You  _ all _ got up before me? Chris, I’m surprised.”

“One time thing,” his cousin returned, dramatically feigning a yawn.

“We wanted to get you for ourselves before the townspeople mobbed you for the rest of the day,” his father laughed, gesturing out the window.

“I don’t sleep,” said Olaf simply.

Thomas laughed, running to the door and wrapping his father in a hug. The rest of the family piled in on top until he was snuggled tightly from all sides under the arch of the doorway.

“Thanks guys, you’re the best.” The prince’s cheeks were aching from how much he was grinning.

Breakfast was even more extravagant than usual. The gleaming plates upon the long table were piled high with the most impressive array of breads, cold meats, and desserts Thomas had ever seen the cooks prepare for the family, even on such a grand occasion. By the way his stomach was growling, however, he was hardly complaining.

“Oh, the cooks really outdid themselves this time,” Kristoff murmured, staring with wide eyes at his heaping plate.

“I could hardly stop them!” exclaimed Gerda from her seat. “You know how they are.”

“They wanted to make you somfing special for your only private meal of the day, birfday boy,” explained Anna, cheeks already full to bursting.

Elsa shook her head, hiding a smile of amusement.

“You’d think after forty years she’d have learned…”

“Miss Anna is living proof of how etiquette is  _ not  _ an integral part of royal life,” Kai commented to Kristoff. The two men chortled at the joke.

The conversation quickly died to the soft sounds of chewing and drinking. The food was extraordinarily good; the royal chefs truly were experts in their art, and today was indeed a special event. As he savoured breakfast, Thomas thought of another meal on another birthday years ago in a faraway kingdom where the sun shone so much brighter.

“Will people from any other nations be coming?” he quipped suddenly—only remembering to wipe his mouth under his father’s reproachful gaze.

“Oh, we sent invitations, of course,” answered his mother. “It’s hard to get here this time of year, especially by sea. It’s quite the narrow fjord, and it’s becoming an ice field out there.”

“Some people can travel from over the mountains, though, can’t they?” put in Kristoff.

“We might have a few visitors from Dunbroch, but aside from them, there isn’t really anyone else,” answered Henrik. “Barely anyone lives that far north.”

“That’s a shame, then,” sighed Thomas. “I was thinking I could show Prince Warner around Arendelle.”

“Ah, that opportunity will come sooner or later,” assured Kai. “Besides, from what I’ve heard, the poor lad wouldn’t much appreciate you dragging him around in the public spotlight!”

Thomas laughed. “There is that…”

The church bells tolled eight times in the distance. The King and Queen put down their utensils in unison.

“Our cue, ladies and gentlemen,” stated Henrik, rising from his seat. The rest of the family quickly followed suit.

“Alright Thomas,” smiled his mother. “It’s your time to shine.”

* * *

Chunks of ice drifted past the slim bow of the galley, the ship twisting a serpentine path through the field of icebergs. Hans’s breath rose in plumes of pale vapour as he gazed at the jagged peak of the North Mountain rising over the horizon, bathed in red by the rising sun. A glint of something caught his eye, an ethereal gleam distinct from the black rock and white snow.

The Snow Queen’s ice palace.

Memories flashed through Hans’s mind.

A perfect bridge of ice. A towering golem of snow. A woman, cornered and afraid, the winter elements responding to her command as assassins closed in on her. His hand guiding the crossbow with deadly intent as the bolt dropped a three-storey chandelier on the Queen of Arendelle.

The Prince of the Southern Isles grimaced. He remembered all too well the way he had felt then, the allure of power drawing him in like a moth to a flame. The pleading look of desperation Elsa’s face when he had left her in that cell, the look of pure betrayal on Anna’s face when he had snuffed out the candle—it all meant nothing to him in the moment. He had had eyes only for the crown.

In the months and years since, however, he had come to terms with the grim reality. In the end, it had been him who was the true monster.

And now he had returned, but the hunger for power that drove his hand was no longer his own.

Boots sounded on the planks of the deck. He turned slowly, addressing the two men who had made their way up behind him with a nod. The men saluted in unison. They were dressed in plain, nondescript winter clothing, with scarves hanging around their necks that they would use of to conceal their faces. On their backs were slung long muskets of Weselton make, which Hans had personally siphoned from a trading caravan several months before. Hans knew that within the inner pocket of each of the operatives’ jackets was a copy of a letter that, despite being heavily stained by seawater, still bore the authentic crest of Weselton and explicit instructions to end the life of King Henrik of Arendelle. 

The men’s faces were emotionless masks, their postures perfectly straight and still as the Spymaster examined them. Hans spoke.

“Gentlemen. We’ve gone over the mission details a hundred times, so I’ll keep this brief. You are to get inside castle Arendelle, find the King, and execute him. Harm as few others as possible, but if it comes down to it, the Arendelle guards are also expendable.”

“Yes, sir,” the operatives stated in unison. Hans raised a hand, finger in the air to accentuate his next statement.

“Above all else, no harm is to come to the Queen. King Mathias needs her alive. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hans clasped his hands behind his back.

“Good. Make your final preparations. We make landfall soon.”

“And what of Everett, sir?” the operative on the left asked.

“Keep him with you. If he makes a run for it, kill him, and make sure they find the body.” Hans made eye contact with both men individually. “You will be doing a great service to the Southern Isles today, gentlemen. Stay focused.”

“Always, sir.” It was the operative on the right this time. Hans nodded in approval.

“Dismissed.”

The operatives’ footsteps receded down the deck. Hans turned again, facing the looming form of the North Mountain once more. He allowed himself a bitter pang of guilt.

_ I’m sorry, Elsa. You don’t deserve this. _

* * *

The chamber behind the main balcony was quite familiar to Thomas. It had scarcely changed over the years: the woven rug covering the floor was embroidered with the same concentric mosaic it had always been, and the two red leather couches by the walls were as pristine as ever. Daylight spilled in from the windows above, casting everything in the soft glow of mid-morning. Already the din of the gathered crowd beyond could be heard, coming muffled through the dense wooden doors to the balcony.

The prince paced slowly across the carpet, head bowed in hard thought as he muttered softly under his breath. Unlike in previous years, this time his father had not been forthcoming with a script for Thomas to follow during his annual speech.

“It is time you truly spoke for yourself,” his father had said. “After all, a leader of the people must be a genuine one.”

It wasn’t as if Thomas was uneasy around his subjects-to-be. Though he wasn’t oblivious to the envy and resentment that accompanied being a member of the royal family, the citizens of Arendelle had always seemed supportive and friendly. Sure, there was the occasional sideways glare or whispered words of resentment, but those rare occurrences were drowned out by the loyalty and adoration the public had towards the Queen and her family.

But the fear was still there, brooding and palpable in the back of his mind. The fear of confronting all his kingdom, all at once, without any script to read from.

Stage fright had him in its clutches.

His father’s voice broke his legs from their endless cycle over the rug.

“Son, there is something I think you should have.”

Thomas raised his gaze, confused. He gasped.

For in his father’s hands was a long, narrow object, its golden edges gleaming brightly in the sunlight: a scabbard, the shining, finely-carved hilt of the sword within pointing expectantly toward him. With wide, disbelieving eyes, he slowly took the blade from his father, holding it in his palms at a reverent distance from his chest.

“Father, are… are you sure?” he whispered.

His father nodded solemnly.

“I have been sure from the moment I turned you over to Captain Roderick. Happy birthday, Thomas. May that blade serve you well.”

Fingers still trembling with lingering awe, Thomas carefully drew the sword from its sheath. It slid out easily with the ringing of steel, its blade reflecting his face back at him from its mirror-polished surface. He gave the weapon a few delicate swings. It was lighter than he was accustomed to with the wooden practice swords, and a good deal longer, too, but there was a natural balance to it, a sense of rightness as he held it in his hand. He felt goosebumps rising on his skin.

He closed his eyes, returning the sword to its scabbard in a swift, hard motion. He tentatively clipped the sheath to his belt, marveling at how perfectly it hung at his side.

_ May it serve me well. _

“Ready when you are, Tom,” Anna called from behind him in encouragement.

The prince drew a deep breath and nodded.

“Open the doors.”

Immediately, the guards eased open the balcony doors, letting the hubbub and excitement of the crowd below wash into the chamber. With a smile, his father motioned toward the open doorway. Thomas forced his feet forward, heart hammering a frantic beat within his chest. The courtyard yawned beneath him, packed tight with people from across the kingdom, all cheering as they caught sight of their Crown Prince above on the balcony. The royal trumpets sang, the chatter below dying to an anticipatory silence.

Thomas cleared his throat.

“People of Arendelle, I stand before you today at the dawn of a new chapter in my life. Another year begins, one of new experiences and new lessons to be learned. I sincerely hope everything I am taught will help me to one day serve you…”

He swallowed, suddenly out of breath.

_ You can do this. _ He inhaled again.

“I also hope for the best for all of you, and wish you luck on all your endeavours. May this be yet another year of success and prosperity in the wonderful Kingdom of Arendelle!”

“ _ Amen! _ ” yelled someone from the audience.

Thomas smiled in relief.

“May the crops flourish in our fields, and the winds favour our sails. May peace and good fortune continue to grace us! And may the King continue his victories over the King of Dunbroch over the board chessboard. That last game was close, believe me!”

There came scattered laughter from the crowd. Thomas felt himself smiling, and he rode the new wave of confidence.

“In the history of our kingdom, we have suffered disasters and defeats. But we have not faltered, not through fire or ice! It brings me great honour to be the future leader of such a great people!”

The crowd cheered, the sound washing over Thomas like a physical wave. He sighed in relief, grinning despite his trembling hands.

_ Maybe this isn’t so bad. _

“ _ Happy birthday to the Crown Prince, Thomas of Arendelle! _ ” shouted his father from behind him. The trumpets played their fanfare as the people applauded heartily.

“See, what did I tell you?” whispered his mother’s cheerful voice in his ear. “What was there to be afraid of?”

* * *

“Now’s our chance. Move up.”

“Where’s our mark?”

“Up there, balcony.”

“Everett, do you follow?”

“Piss off with that attitude. I’m not new at this.”

* * *

Skates flashed upon the glittering blue sheen of ice covering the courtyard floor as townspeople whizzed around Thomas like carefree birds. Some danced gracefully over the ice, others simply strolling by, still others barely moving at all, instead watching their children playing happily in the snow. Chatter and laughter came everywhere at once, filling the air, casting an aura of celebration over Arendelle Castle.

The freezing of the courtyard was a bi-annual event, held on the anniversary of the Great Thaw and later on the Crown Prince’s birthday. For two days a year, once in high summer, once in deep autumn, the people of Arendelle could relive the timeless moment of relieved exaltation after the Snow Queen finally found control her powers and lifted her frigid winter’s curse from her kingdom. It was a time for celebration, indeed, but also one of remembrance—for even though the people had never seen their Crown Prince conjure even a single snowflake, the suspicion was stuck firm in the public mind. Perhaps this boy, the son of the magical Queen Elsa, perhaps he had powers, too. And perhaps one day, he too would lose control.

Perhaps a second cursed winter wasn’t far in the future.

Knowing this did not soothe Thomas’s feelings of disappointment as he met the townsfolk, however. Approaching children were held back by their mothers, who merely curtseyed and avoided his questioning gaze. The adults were polite enough, making respectful gestures and small talk, but there was always a look in their eyes, a sense of unease in their postures.

_ Maybe I’ve just been stuck in my room reading books for too much of my life _ , Thomas grumbled to himself.

It was then that a particularly tiny boy sidled up to him, wobbling precariously on skates much too large for him. Thomas couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the sight.

“Whoa, whoa there,” he called, bending forward so he was face-to-face with the child. “Need some help?”

The boy promptly fell flat on his back, looking up at him shyly. “H-hi,” the toddler stuttered.

Thomas extended his hand to help the toddler up. The boy stared blankly back at his outstretched fingers. Thomas tried to smile reassuringly.

“Come on, I don’t bite! My name’s Tom, what’s yours?”

Finally, the boy nervously placed his miniscule hand into the prince’s palm. Thomas pulled the boy upright with a grin.

“You might want to think about growing a bit before using those skates…”

“ _ Matthew!  _ Oh, there you are!”

An older woman of about forty rushed into view over the ice on unsteady legs, barely able to stop herself before she snatched her son up in a relieved embrace.

“Don’t you ever disappear on me like that again! You could get  _ lost _ in all these people…”

It was only then that the woman noticed the young man from whose grip she had taken her child. Her expression shifted from anger to shock in an instant.

“Your Highness! I… Please accept my apologies, I didn’t know it was you!”

Thomas raised his hands. “It’s fine!” he chuckled. “Though I think I’ve scared your boy a little.”

The woman forced a smile.

“Forgive my son, he’s still young. Too curious for his own good!”

“Tom?” piped the boy from his mother’s side. “Why are your hands so cold?”

“Well, it  _ is  _ pretty cold in here,” replied Thomas.

“Are you like Queen El-sa?” The toddler was pointing at Thomas’s stark white hair. “Can you make snow?”

The prince’s smile slipped slightly.

“Of course I can make it snow!” he said, scooping up some of the cold powder from beneath his feet and sprinkling it over the boy’s head. The toddler giggled as pieces landed in his brown curls.

“No, no,” the child exclaimed, clapping his hands. “The  _ magic _ snow!”

The mother inhaled sharply, swiftly moving to silence her son. Time slowed as Thomas returned the toddler’s inquisitive gaze.

Though his mother had never explicitly told him  _ not _ to use his powers in public, the pretense had certainly been there. From the earliest he could remember, his magic had been tentatively regarded as a gift, but also as a profound danger to himself and others. But now, standing in front of this boy, Thomas suddenly made a decision.

He raised a hand at the mother, turning to the toddler again.

“You want to see the magic?”

Thomas took a long breath. He rubbed his palms together delicately. A flash of blue light filtered from between his fingers, reflecting in the wide eyes of the woman and her son. Slowly, ice crystals coalesced in the space between his hands, growing into a perfect, intricate snowflake the size of his hand. Thomas gently handed the piece of ice to the awed child.

“Play with it fast, before it melts,” he said in a stage whisper.

The boy nodded furiously, hurrying off into the crowd, dragging his flustered mother with him. The crown prince was left alone with his own thoughts.

_ I don’t want Arendelle to be afraid. I will show them I have control. _

The calm only lasted for a moment before Christopher collided into him. Taken off guard, Thomas stumbled backward, arms flailing as he struggled to stop himself from toppling over.

“What in the name of… what was that for, Chris?” Thomas exclaimed angrily as soon as he regained his footing.

His cousin merely grinned. “You seemed like you needed a break from yourself.”

Thomas folding his arms over his chest, blowing a lock of hair from in front of his eye.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Christopher raised an eyebrow. “You’re just standing here sulking while the rest of the kingdom is using  _ your _ birthday as an excuse to have fun! Come on, what’s on your mind?”

Thomas shrugged sheepishly. “I… I don’t know, Chris.”

His cousin nodded gravely. “That bad, huh? It’s forbidden to feel down on your own birthday, Tom. In fact, I’ll ask Aunt Elsa to make it illegal.”

“You know I’ll be King someday, right?” Thomas chuckled. “I can just strike it off the list.”

Christopher snorted. He extended a hand. 

“How about we go for a skate and air out that musty head of yours? Besides, Arendelle needs to see you with your new decoration.” He gestured to Thomas’ shining sword.

Thomas tilted his head, smiling mischievously.

“Oh, you think you can keep up?”

With a slight flourish of his hand, Thomas blasted past his older cousin in a burst of speed, launched across the ice by gust of arctic wind, coattails flapping wildly behind him. Christopher was left scrambling behind him as Thomas laughed.

“Hey,  _ hey!  _ Wait up, Tom!”

* * *

Elsa smiled down at the courtyard scene from an open window in the castle wall. The midday sun shone in the clear sky above, the frozen fountains casting refracted patterns onto the clear ice of the courtyard floor. Christopher and Thomas were weaving between the groups of townspeople at dazzling speed, calling and hollering as they chased after one another.

“You should join them, Elsa,” smiled Henrik, following her gaze.

“You should too, dear,” Elsa replied, releasing Henrik’s hand to tap him playfully on the shoulder. “I know how much you love to skate.”

“You know, somehow between all the fencing and big game hunting my father never once taught me how to skate,” her husband replied, shaking his head with a mock-serious expression.

“Never too late to learn.”

“See, you  _ say  _ that but…” Henrik’s eyes widened as he realized what Elsa was doing. “Oh no.”

With a teasing smile, a bolt of magic flew from the tips of her fingers, coating the hallway floor with a thin layer of ice. Henrik promptly fell flat on his stomach.

“You can’t expect me to skate without skates,” her husband groaned from the floor.

“Silly me,” Elsa laughed, twirling her fingers as she began to craft skates on Henrik’s boots.

Her laughter was cut short when she noticed the three figures walking towards them from down the hallway. She stood up, squinting at the strangers.

“Hey, excuse me! Are you fellows lost? You’re not supposed to be up here,” she called.

As they drew closer, she saw the three men were dressed in simple winter jackets, winter caps and scarves obscuring their faces, exposing only a sliver of their eyes—eyes filled with a common cold determination. A knot of dread began to build in Elsa’s stomach. She heard Henrik rise to his feet behind her. Elsa held up her hand.

“As Queen of Arendelle, I order you to stop!”

The two men in the lead stopped in unison. One reached for an item he had strapped across his back. Elsa’s eyes widened in horror.

It was a gun.

The magic reacted faster than she did. In the blink of an eye, a thick, jagged shield of ice grew in front of her, obscuring the assailants temporarily. She whirled back to face Henrik.

“Run!”

There was a deafening blast. Suddenly, Elsa couldn’t breathe. She felt herself knocked off her feet by an invisible force as she crumpled to the ground. The men kept advancing, stepping around her barrier. A barrier which now had a hole punctured through its centre.

_ “You bastards!”  _ Henrik yelled, pure rage colouring his voice.

Elsa could only watch as he threw himself between her and the assailants, shielding her with his body. She saw the second man drew his own gun from his back in slow motion. Tears of despair welled in the Queen’s eyes.

“No… run… Henrik, run!” she choked.

A second blast, much closer than the first. She saw her husband jerk backward, dark red already staining the back of his jacket. Henrik’s body landed beside her with a sickening thud.

“Els… Elsa.” Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his breath coming in wet gurgles. Blood pooled from underneath him onto the smooth stone floor. His grey eyes locked with hers. His hand grabbed hers, trembling.

“Elsa… my love.”

His hand went limp. The gurgling stopped.

Sorrow swept over Elsa like a tidal wave. She screamed. The magic screamed with her, sending jagged spikes of ice shooting out of the floor with terrible speed. She heard one of the men cry out, the others cursing and scrambling.

She tried to raise her head, to push herself up. It was only then that she saw the crimson staining her own stomach, creeping out of her dress where it met her husband’s on the cold floor. Her vision darkened, crippling fatigue pulling her down, down.

“G… guards…” She could barely manage a whisper.

Everything went black.


	13. Blood on the Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "The Spymaster"  
> [Two Steps From Hell – “Chase the Light”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZ97crvBpzg)

The bouldered vale was completely still under the clear rays of the noonday sun. The occasional blast of geyser steam reverberated off the empty walls of the valley, the water vapour quickly condensing in the late-autumn air and sprinkling the mossy stones scattered about the clearing with a pitter-patter of droplets.

Upon one of the slopes at the edge of the clearing, a low rumbling started as one of the stones began to quake.

Grand Pabbie unrolled from the ground, leaning heavily against his staff as if a sudden burden had been dropped on his craggy shoulders. He squinted up at the sky, breathing hard as he shielded his eyes with his free hand, his face contorted in concentration as he struggled to focus on something far, far away. From further into the valley another stone drew itself up to standing with a groan. Bulda yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she turned to regard Pabbie quizzically.

“What’s wrong, Pabbie?”

The old troll shook himself as if coming out of a stupor. He turned to face Bulda with apprehension in his eyes.

“Something terrible has happened in Arendelle. Lives hang in the balance. Many, many lives.”

* * *

Marcus hated bloodstains. They were a telltale sign of an inexperienced killer, a sticky and foul-smelling brand of carelessness that screamed murder to the world, marking the bearer for vengeance.

Somehow the other’s assassin’s blood had gotten on Marcus’s jacket when the Snow Queen impaled him.

He ran full tilt across the long bridge leading away from castle Arendelle, townspeople gasping and cowering from him as they saw the panic in his eyes and registered the darkening fluid staining his chest. He could hear the second assassin’s heavy breathing close behind him, the man’s hard footfalls echoing his own. He did not know how much of a head start they had on the Arendellian guards, but he was making every second count.

_ Get back to the ship. Get back to the ship. _

They had made it to the other side of the bridge. The streets were emptier here, the majority of the citizens having evidently gone to the castle to join in the festivities. As uneven cobblestones flew by under his aching legs, the forest beyond the village growing closer with agonizing slowness. 

_ “There! Stop them!” _

Heavy hoofbeats sounded from behind Marcus. He felt the stones begin to shudder as the horses bore down on him. Sweat dripping from his brow, he dove into a narrow alley between two houses, feeling his hair flutter as it was narrowly missed by the blade of a pike. His shoes slipped for a terrifying moment as he tumbled forward, barely managing to jerk himself upright before he tipped over from his own momentum. He heard blades being drawn and horses whinnying from the street as the other assassin struggled to find his own vector of escape.

The alley was a dead end. Marcus’s frantic gaze swept over the brick walls that were quickly becoming his death trap, finally locking onto a drainpipe at the opposite end of the left-side building. He leapt onto the structure, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his feet scrambled for purchase, desperately hooking the stump that remained of his left hand around the back of the pipe as he dragged himself up the supports with his right. Glancing back toward the street, he saw the other assassin drawing his musket, cornered between two mounted royal guards. For a moment, their eyes locked. The assassin leveled the musket straight at Marcus.

Several things happened in rapid succession.

One of the guards leapt off his horse in a single swift motion, running the assassin clean through the chest with a sabre. A deafening bang echoed off the alley walls, a cloud of opaque smoke momentarily obscuring the two men in their embrace of death. Pieces of brick dust stung Marcus’s eyes as the musket ball carved a trough in the building wall centimetres from his face. Instinctively, he shielded his face with his right hand.

His missing left hand slipped from its purchase.

With a slow sense of helplessness, Marcus felt himself tumble backward from his position halfway up the side of the house. He felt his right arm twist under him as he hit the unforgiving ground, twisting under his weight with a sickening crunch. He cried out in pain as red hot agony flared from his elbow.

Black boots struck the ground in his peripheral vision. The butt of a pike loomed above him, then he saw nothing but stars.

* * *

Elsa was still breathing.

Anna knelt by the bedside, holding her sister’s limp hand with all her might as she bit back the sobs that fought to be let loose from her chest. Doctors flitted around her, their expressions drawn taught with urgency as they layered bandages upon bandages over the gaping hole in the Queen’s chest. The white cloths soaked through with crimson almost immediately. Frost spread outward from her sister’s body like an icy spiderweb, growing and twisting in time to the shallow, feeble rise and fall of her chest. The blood, however, flowed freely, seeping into the bedsheets like a red shadow.

The scene in that hallway was burned permanently into Anna’s mind. The jagged icicles. The broken barrier of ice. Lifting her sister’s prone form from a pool of thick, congealing blood, her brother-in-law’s sightless eyes boring into her with terrible accusation. 

Elsa’s hand was so cold in Anna’s grip it felt like it was burning, but she clung to it like a drowning man to a piece of flotsam. Silent tears streamed down her face, dripping from her chin and hissing faintly as they met Elsa’s ice on the floor.

“Can you save her?” she whispered.

The doctor closest to her wiped beads of sweat from his brow.

“I wish I could give you an answer, Your Highness. Her Majesty has lost so much blood already it’s a miracle she’s still with us. I-” his expression was one of barely-contained pain “-I wish I could do more, Your Highness, but I’m only a man.”

For a moment, it was as if a pit had opened up beneath her and the sun had gone out. In an instant, she was back on the frozen fjord, raising a hand to block Hans’s deadly blade even as she felt her very heart solidifying.

But this time she had been too late. Now her sister was dying. And no amount of love could heal a bullet wound.

Anna had never really come to terms with death. When her parents did not return from the sea, there had been no bodies to carry, no coffins to fill. There had only been the emptiness, the isolation she had felt as the last two people in her life disappeared as a black veil was draped over their portraits.

This was different. This was visceral, proximal,  _ real _ . This was her sister bleeding out in front of her while she watched and did nothing.

The princess started, another memory surfacing in her mind. An ancient tome on the oldest shelf in the library, untouched for years before her teenage hands had opened it. The strange, archaic script contained in its fading pages. The illustration of a mortally wounded king on a bed of stone, a dark spectre looming over him with raised hands. The map that had fallen out of the bindings. The scribbled notes at the foot of the page.

_ Follow the sky to the keeper of the dancing lights. _

Anna swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I know where we have to go.”

* * *

Hans stood on black sand, watching the galley sway with the waves as they broke on the beach. He turned slowly, methodically, the strong ocean wind causing his coat to billow as he stared out through the dense, silent darkness of the pine forest, as if he could pierce the very mountains and catch a glimpse of Arendelle beyond if only he squinted hard enough.

The shadow of the galley’s mast swept over him slowly. He could hear the deckhands as they moved along the rigging, making adjustments to the sails so they could escape to sea at a moment’s notice.

The operatives should have returned by now.

He was under no delusion that the mission would go smoothly. The choice of date had been no accident or coincidence—Mathias had wanted a spectacle, a scene that would be remembered by every citizen of the kingdom. The men Hans had sent were expendable to that end. But there was something else, too. Hans continued staring, rooted to the beach by a rising sense of dread.

Despite all his meticulous planning, visions of his last visit to Arendelle crept back to haunt him.

He remembered the feeling of the flame between his fingers as he had pinched out the candle. He remembered the feeling of the sword in his hand as he had made that final swing. He remembered the shockwave as Princess Anna had stepped between the blade and her sister, blocking the blow with her last breath. The years had coloured the scene with regret, even guilt, but in the moment he had only felt the cold, sharp sting of failure.

The sound of cracking branches in the distance broke Hans from his reverie. A figure broke from the treeline, a man dressed in farmer’s clothes, his body heaving with exertion as he all but dragged himself before the Spymaster, drawing himself up in a trembling salute.

Hans’s frown deepened.

“Enough of that, talk to me!” he hissed, rushing forward and placing his hands on the informant’s shoulders. “What happened? Where are my men?”

The other man’s shoulders sagged as he struggled to control his breathing.

“The King of Arendelle… is dead, sir. It is done. The others… aren’t coming.”

Hans clenched his jaw. He nodded stiffly.

“And what of Queen Elsa?”

The informant swallowed. “She… she was caught in the crossfire, sir. It looked like she was still alive but I… I can’t be sure.”

Hans took a slow step back. He drew a deep breath, his gloved hands balling into fists at his sides. He felt the memory of the sword shattering in his hands again. A growl of frustration burst out through his teeth.

_ “Damn you!” _

The informant cowered under the Spymaster’s fiery glare. Hans paced back toward the ship, head bowed, vibrating with anger.

Abruptly, however, something else rose in his chest, drowning out the flames with a thick, heavy blanket. His eldest brother’s words rang fresh in his mind.

_ If I can rain hell upon them, then by God, it is a hell that awaits them! _

There was something that Mathias hadn’t known, of course, a piece of information that Hans still kept close to his chest. Thomas of Arendelle had the curse, too. Even should the Snow Queen die, hell would still arrive.

The boulder had been tipped off the edge. A series of events had been set in motion that could not be stopped. Hans had not failed. Not yet.

He whirled, charging back to the informant and pulling the man upright by the collar of his jacket.

“Get to the ship. We’re done here.”

As the man scurried off behind him, Hans turned his gaze once more over the forest. He could make out dark clouds forming in the sky beyond the canopy.

_ A storm is coming. _

* * *

Thomas realized had never truly understood loss.

For all his life, he had been surrounded by the smiling faces of his family, his cousins his constant companions as he grew up with them, his parents eternal pillars of wisdom to which he came home every day. Even after his own life had so nearly been taken from him, the thought never crossed his mind that the same could happen to someone else, someone close to him.

Now his father was dead. His mother, critically wounded by the same assassins, lying in a coma as her life seeped out of a ragged bullet hole. As he watched from the door of the infirmary, his mother’s unconscious form coming in and out of view from between the hurried figures of the doctors, he felt like his lungs had been filled with water.

His father’s sword hung heavily at his side. They hadn’t even let him see his father’s body.

Kai found him eventually. The aged servant’s large hand came to rest on his arm, squeezing it lightly. He felt a soft blanket wrap gently around his shoulders.

“Your Highness, please, give yourself a break. You’ve been standing here for hours.”

Thomas sniffled. “It’s alright, Kai, thank you. I…” He felt veins of frost creep up the wall. “I need to stay here.”

The hallway was silent for a moment.

“Your Highness, if I may.”   
“Yes, Kai?”

“I don’t know if your mother ever told you, but I was the one who organized your grandparents’ funeral.”

Thomas turned to face the servant in surprise, wiping tears from his eyes even as they began to well with fresh ones. “You were?”

The aged man smiled kindly.

“I was. I loved your grandparents, Thomas. Loved them like family, because that’s what we were. We’d already reduced the staff and isolated ourselves in the castle for over a decade trying to protect Princess Elsa. When the King and Queen went down in the Southern Sea, well, there was nobody left. But someone had to be strong for Elsa and Anna.”

Kai shook his head, chuckling sadly.

“I’ve served the royal family of Arendelle for three generations, Thomas. Yours will certainly be my last. I wasn’t supposed to outlive your father. I wasn’t supposed to plan a second funeral.”

The servant’s words broke something in the young prince. Thomas collapsed into Kai’s embrace, sobs wracking his body.

“Father… father isn’t coming back,” he choked out between tears. “Mother’s  _ dying  _ in there, I overheard the doctors. What… what are we going to do?”

He felt Kai’s chest rise in a deep breath. The servant’s voice was gentle but firm.

“You can’t change the past, Thomas. Nobody can. You can only look to the future. Do the next right thing.”

Memories flashed in the prince’s mind. Two deafening cracks echoing off the courtyard walls. The terrified screams of the townspeople as men with concealed faces pushed through them with the speed of desperation. The hoofbeats of stallions as guards raced out the castle gates in pursuit, Captain Roderick at the lead.

The slack-jawed face of the assassin, held aloft by the wicked spears of ice bursting from his chest, the weapon of murder still dangling by its strap from his still body.

Thomas drew back from Kai’s arms, new purpose in his eyes as he met the older man’s gaze.

“Has the Captain returned?”

Kai nodded. “I was told he returned some time ago.”

“I need to see him.”

“Might I ask why, Your Highness?” There was concern in the servant’s eyes.

“So I can do the next right thing,” Thomas answered simply. Kai considered him for a moment, then nodded again, starting down the hall. He heard the doors of the infirmary swing shut behind him.

Faint grey light filtered into the hallway from the tall windows on the wall. Outside, the pale autumn sun had been obscured by darkening clouds stretching to the horizon, where only a sliver of sky remained.

_ Did Mother cause that?  _ Thomas wondered as he followed after Kai.  _ Did I? _

Other servants bowed and curtsied hurriedly as he passed by room after room of the castle, but he barely even registered them. He rushed after Kai down the spiral staircase, through the main atrium, and across another hallway. The servant arrived at the towering iron-framed doors of the guard barracks, slowly pushing the left one open.

“Captain Roderick, a moment please?” Kai called.

The sound of boots on stone carried from beyond the doorway. The Captain of the Guard emerged with his hand hovering over the hilt of his sabre, a stern expression on his face.

“What is it, Kai?”

“Prince Thomas would like a word.”

Roderick stepped out into the hallway, closing the barracks door behind him. He regarded Thomas with a pained expression.

“Highness, you shouldn’t be out here on your own. It’s not safe. Not until we’re certain the castle grounds aren’t still compromised.”

Thomas stepped forward.

“I came down here to ask about that, Captain. What’s the situation? Have you captured the…”  _ murderers _ , but the word got stuck in his throat.

The Captain glanced at Kai, then nodded stiffly.

“According to multiple reports, there were three men. One of them was slain by the Queen before he could escape. I personally slew another and my guards were able to capture the third.”

At that, the prince’s eyes lit up.

“Where is he now? Is he here, in the dungeons?”

“Yes, he is,” Roderick answered cautiously. “We haven’t had the chance to question him yet. He was barely conscious last I saw him.”

Thomas shrugged off the blanket from his shoulders, handing it to Kai and drawing himself rigidly straight in front of the Captain.

“Take me to him.”

Roderick folded his arms over his chest apprehensively.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Highness? This man tried to kill your parents.”

Thomas’s breath caught in his throat. When he spoke, however, his voice did not waver.

“Take me to him. Please, Captain.”

Roderick nodded.

“Very well. Follow me.”

“Shall I accompany you, Your Highness?” called Kai.

Thomas shook his head.

“Not this time. Thank you, Kai.”

The aged servant bowed.

Roderick lead Thomas through another set of hallways, past the dining hall and the guest chambers. They came to another iron-framed door. This time, it was locked. Roderick fished out a ring of keys from his belt, slotting one into the keyhole with practiced precision. He pushed the door open with a groan to reveal a bare stone staircase leading to the level below. Roderick began to descend, motioning for Thomas to follow.

“What do you wish to do with the prisoner?” he asked in a low voice.

Thomas could feel ice crawling along the floor in a trail tracing his footsteps.

“I need to find out who ordered this. Who wanted my parents dead.”

Roderick’s feet stopped. Thomas looked up. They were standing in the threshold of a long stone hallway filled with heavy, reinforced doors. The guards flanking the entrance folded their left arms over their chest smartly at the Captain’s appearance. Roderick’s breath misted in the cold air. He gazed down at Thomas, sympathy in his eyes.

“I understand your pain, Highness.”

The Captain walked slowly down the dungeon hall, stopping at the second door on the right, gesturing to it with a hand.

“He’s in here. Restrained, of course, but be careful.”

As Thomas reached for the handle of the door, Roderick’s hand gripped his shoulder firmly.

“One other thing, Highness. We need him alive. Remember that.”

Thomas saw the corner of the Captain’s mouth lift in the smallest of smiles. He nodded. Roderick slid open the locking pins with hard motions. Thomas pushed the door open.

The cell was bare except for a thin cot and a waste-bucket, dimly illuminated by the tiny barred window in the wall. Curled up on the cot was the haggard figure of a man, his face obscured by filthy neck-length hair, chained to the floor by black iron cuffed to his ankles and wrists.

It was then that Thomas realized the prisoner only had one wrist.

Sensing his presence, the prisoner rolled over with a groan. With awkward movements that belied pain, the man pushed his back against the wall until he was in somewhat of a sitting position, leaning heavily on his arm with no hand. The hair obscuring his face fell away, revealing a long, worn nose and a gaunt face marred by a long scar near the temple. Black eyes bored into him.

Memories of the sweltering Coronan night surfaced behind Thomas’s eyes. His blood ran cold.

“You.”

_ “You.” _

Behind him, Thomas heard the Captain’s hand grip the handle of his sabre.

“Thomas, you  _ know  _ this man?” Roderick’s voice was incredulous.

It was the prisoner who spoke.

“Of course he does. I tried to kill him before.” The prisoner laughed, a harsh, guttural sound devoid of humour.

Suddenly the temperature plunged thirty degrees. There was a ringing of metal, and Thomas realized that he had drawn his sword.

“Who are you? Why won’t you leave my family alone?” he screamed.

The prisoner was shivering now, his legs scrambling on the cot to push him farther from the prince, but the mirthless grin remained on his face.

“I’m nobody. I’m just a hired blade.”

“Then  _ who sent you? _ ”

Thomas held the tip of the sword to the prisoner’s neck. He saw the man’s Adam’s apple bob nervously and felt a thrill at the small victory. The prisoner licked his lips.

“So you are a bloody sorcerer, then. This cold is you, isn’t it? You owe me a hand, boy.”

In the blink of an eye, a dozen icicles had pinned the prisoner to the wall by his flimsy garments, missing the man’s limbs and torso by a hair’s breadth. The cell was filled with the crackle of hardening ice. Thomas felt a firm hand grip his forearm.

“That’s enough, Highness, I can take it from here,” Roderick said by his ear in a low voice. Thomas took a small step back, the raised tip of his sword trembling with his rage. The Captain stepped forward until he was face to face with the prisoner.

“Let’s try this again. What’s your name? Who sent you and why?”

The prisoner remained silent. Roderick sighed.

“If you really are who you say you are, I’m sure you recognize that you gain nothing by protecting your employers. But if you insist on playing this game, I would much rather be taking care of more productive matters, such as arranging your hanging. Or perhaps I’ll step out for a moment and leave the discussion between you and the prince?”

The Captain casually gestured to the icicles around him. The prisoner bared his teeth, glaring back defiantly. Roderick shrugged.

“Have it your way.” He took a couple of steps towards the door.

_ “Hans.” _

The Captain stopped in his tracks. Thomas sucked in a breath, slowly lowering his sword.

“What did you say?” Roderick growled.

“A man named Hans sent me to tail his men while they finished their mission,” the prisoner spat, breathing heavily. “Said there was a big pot of gold for me once I got back on the ship.”

“Prince Hans of the Southern Isles?” Thomas’s voice was barely above a whisper.

The prisoner raised an eyebrow. “Southern Isles is right. Didn’t know he was a bloody prince, too.”

In two swift strides, Roderick was nose to nose with the prisoner.

“What ship?”

The prisoner swallowed before speaking.

“They docked it around the back of the mountain, out of sight of the castle. North-West, black sand beach.”

Slowly, the icicles began to melt, dripping water onto the cot and soaking the prisoner’s clothes. The man slid limply off the wall, eyes wide with shocked relief. Thomas sheathed his sword with shaking hands. He shared a glance with the Captain before walking stiffly out of the cell. Roderick closed the door firmly behind them, sliding the locking pins back into place.

“I’m going to that beach,” Thomas stated.

Roderick met his gaze sternly.

“That would be putting you directly in harm’s way, Highness. I can’t allow that.”

“I’ll have you and the other guards.”

Roderick shook his head. “We don’t know what we’re facing here.”

“No,  _ they  _ don’t know what they’re facing,” Thomas growled through his teeth. Frost began to curl up the walls.

Roderick held Thomas’s gaze for a long moment.

“We leave now. Stick to me like your life depends on it. It very well may.”

Heavy footfalls sounded from the threshold to the dungeon hall.

“Wherever Master Thomas goes, I shall follow.”

Thomas turned to find Sir Gingivere standing behind him, Kai at the knight’s side wearing a slightly mischievous smile. The Captain of the Guard glanced at them, nodding.

“So be it.”

* * *

The sled of the Official Ice Master and Deliverer raced up the thin mountain pass. The eerie silence of the deep forest was broken by the scraping of steel skis on snow and gravel accompanied by the laboured panting of an aging reindeer. Krisoff patted the heaving flank of his lifelong companion, gritting his teeth as he urged Sven on.

“I know you’re no spring chicken anymore, Sven, but we have to go faster!”

His wife cradled her sister in the back of the sled, doing her best to shield Elsa from the sled’s rocking and jittering. The doctors had been extremely reluctant to even move the Queen, much less allow her to be taken up the side of a mountain in search of mythical rock trolls, but Anna’s conviction could not be swayed.

_ They couldn’t save her anyway,  _ a small voice in Kristoff’s mind whispered.

“But Pabbie can,” Kristoff said aloud.

“Kristoff?” Anna called quietly from behind him. “Kristoff, are we almost there?”

“Just… just hang in there, Anna. Pabbie can fix this.”

He was trying to convince himself more than his wife.

“We’ll be there soon, Anna. Last time we were up here we didn’t even have a sled, remember?” another voice piped from the sled.

Olaf had found them as they were carefully loading Elsa onto the sled and had hopped on after them without a word. The snowman had been uncharacteristically quiet for the majority of the journey, clinging to Anna and only offering occasional words of encouragement. Kristoff wondered if the snowman shared some deeper connection with Elsa, having been created by her magic.

_ Does he feel Elsa’s pain? Does he know how close she is to death? _

The towering mountains cast long shadows over the group under the setting sun. The sky above had darkened with thick clouds heralding imminent snowfall, but thankfully the air remained clear for the time being.

After what seemed an eternity, the path began to taper to a more gradual incline. The trees grew sparse, the terrain jagged and rocky. Sven galloped into a clearing, bringing the sled to a standstill before collapsing in exhaustion.

As Kristoff leapt hurriedly from the reigns, he noticed a lone, squat figure in the centre of the clearing, adorned with glowing crystals that twinkled like fireflies in the dim twilight.

“Pabbie, thank goodness. We need your help!”

Kristoff moved to the back of the sled, helping Anna lower Elsa’s limp form to the mossy ground. The ancient troll rushed forward, gently pulling away the blanket covering the Queen’s lower body to reveal the crimson-stained bandages wrapped around her midriff.

“Elsa’s been shot,” Anna stated, her voice trembling. “Pabbie, please… can you help her? She doesn’t have much time.”

The troll raised his hands above the Queen’s body, eyes closed in concentration. Lights flickered in the sky above, but were obscured by the thick cloud cover. Pabbie opened his eyes.

“Her Majesty is weak, but she still clings to life. Her magic is powerful, so much more powerful than even last you visited. It’s sustaining her, keeping her alive even when her body cannot.”

Pabbie’s voice took on a grave tone.

“But I cannot bring her back. She has slipped too far. My powers are not enough.”

Anna fell to her knees, stroking her sister’s hair as she began to sob softly. Kristoff held her head to his chest even as he felt his own heart sink.

“What about me?” It was Olaf’s voice, soft and meek.

The small snowman hopped over the edge of the sled, twig-hands held together nervously as he walked up to Pabbie.

“Elsa made me. Maybe I can help her.”

The old troll looked Olaf over, eyes deep in thought.

“Yes, yes, perhaps. But to give your energy back to her… it would destroy you.”

Olaf drew himself up. He turned to Kristoff and Anna.

“You guys have given me so much. I’ve given so many warm hugs and seen so many summers… all because of you.” The snowman smiled sadly. “But Elsa gave me life. It only makes sense that I give it back.”

“Olaf…” Anna whispered.

The snowman turned back to Pabbie, holding his twig arms horizontally out from his body.

“I’m ready.”

Pabbie nodded, raising his staff as the crystals hanging from his body began to glow brighter. The large crystal at the tip of his staff flashed with clashing forces of dark red and brilliant blue. He pointed the staff at Olaf, stony brow furrowed in concentration.

At first, nothing happened. Then, a single snowflake lifted from Olaf’s head, floating lazily to land on Elsa’s hand. It was followed by another. Then another. Piece by tiny piece, the snowman began to dissolve in a glittering stream of ice and magical energy.

Olaf’s head turned to face Anna again.

“I’m not good at goodbyes, so… see you later?”

The snowman’s face froze as the stream of snowflakes intensified, his essence being pulled back into its creator like a physical substance. The rest of Olaf’s body collapsed in a pile of fresh powder, leaving only his twig arms and the carrot that was once his nose.

“Goodbye, Olaf,” Anna sniffled, her voice hoarse. “Thank you. For everything.”

Pabbie brought his staff to the ground with a crack that echoed through the vale. The crystals on his body dimmed until they faded entirely. Then there was nothing but deafening silence.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kristoff thought he saw Elsa twitch. Something compelled him to take a small step back.

The Queen’s eyes snapped open, irises glowing a blinding, ethereal white. She screamed.

* * *

For an eternity, there was nothing but the cold and the dark. Then, a light flared in the void, feeble and elusive. She could feel its warmth. She needed it. She chased after it through the abyss, but it drew further and further away. Soon there was nothing left, and the cold and the dark consumed her once more.

_ Come back. I don’t want to die. _

Abruptly, there was another flare, this one burning with the brightness of the sun. She felt herself pulled toward it, drawn helplessly into the blinding whirlpool. The light grew and grew until it was her whole world, the darkness fading away until there was nothing but pure white luminance.

Little by little, images coalesced from the homogeneity. She saw herself in her mother’s arms, drifting off to sleep to haunting lullaby. She saw a lone sled careening down a mountain pass, its feeble lamplight revealing the pack of wolves stalking it through the trees. She saw ships trapped on a frozen fjord as a cyclone of snow engulfed them.

The images came faster and faster, blurring between one another as a pressure began to build.

She saw purple fire and gale-force winds ravaging a forest enshrouded by fog. She saw lightning sparking from beneath the ground, towering pillars that pierced the clouds, the drone of vast metal wings as the earth burned beneath their passing. She saw the planets in motion around the sun, the sun in motion around something unfathomably larger. She saw the heart of darkness at the beginning of time and the yawning emptiness at its end.

The pressure grew until it was unbearable agony, but she had no mouth to scream. Still the images came. 

She saw a lone figure walking toward a castle gate in a foreign land in the midst of a raging blizzard. She saw soldiers burst from the doors, weapons clutched in their hands. She saw the figure raise his own hand as spears of ice shot upward, painting the walls with crimson.

Suddenly, she could feel her body again. Elsa’s eyes snapped open, and this time she did scream.

* * *

Dark pine branches whipped by Thomas’s head as he held on to Roderick for dear life, the saddle jolting beneath him as the Captain’s horse galloped through the forest with terrifying speed. Behind him rode two other guards, their expressions stern and determined as they urged their steeds on. He could make out glints of blue ice between the tree trunks as Sir Gingivere kept pace beside the Captain, the knight’s inhuman strides impacting the soft forest floor with deep thuds.

Abruptly, Roderick pulled on the reigns, causing his steed to come to a skidding halt. He dismounted with practiced speed, motioning for the other guards to do the same.

“We continue on foot from here. Come, Highness, quietly now.”

Thomas stepped awkwardly off the back of the horse, his feet meeting the ground with the crunching of fallen branches. Dull afternoon light filtered through the trees in front of him. Roderick moved forward, stepping carefully to make as little noise as possible. Thomas followed closely behind, heart pounding in anticipation.

The needles and soil of the underbrush gave way to pebbles and sharp, black sand. The cold ocean breeze washed over him, bringing with it the smell of brine and seaweed. The air was filled with the sound of crashing waves. They emerged from the edge of the forest.

The beach was empty.

Thomas heard the Captain curse under his breath.

“That damned scoundrel! Probably fed us false information to buy himself time.” Roderick stood up from his crouch, head bent as he scoured the sand for clues.

“Captain, look.” Sir Gingivere stood like a statue, his right arm pointing to a spot on the horizon. Thomas’s eyes followed the knight’s finger.

The distinct shape of a mast jutted up among the jagged shapes of ice sheets in the grey water, silhouetted against the red dusk.

_ A man named Hans sent me…  _

It was like a switch flipped in Thomas’s mind. His hands clenched to fists. An arctic wind started blowing around him. His legs moved on their own accord, and suddenly he was sprinting down the beach, the ice coming to life at his fingertips. He shot his arms forward as bolts of blue light shot from his hands, blasting a frozen path through the oncoming waves. He kept running, the ground below his feet turning from sand to ice, his eyes seeing nothing but the billowing sail on the horizon.

_ I will bring you to justice. _

Someone slammed into him from behind, knocking him off his feet. He felt hands like vices wrap around him in a tackle as he slid across the ice.

“Highness, stop this now! Have you gone mad?” Roderick’s voice growled into his ear.

“Let go of me!” Thomas yelled, legs flailing.

“Not until you start seeing sense! What was your plan? Were you going to run after that ship across the entire ocean? Damn it, Highness, I taught you better than this!  _ You are forever the defender. _ ”

The prince stopped struggling, taking a few deep, calming breaths. When he spoke again, his words were slow and deliberate.

“No. I’m done defending, Captain. My father is dead. My mother is dying. Hans must face justice for what he has done.”

He jerked his arms from his mentor’s grip, pushing himself to his feet. Roderick moved in front of him, raising a stern eyebrow.

“Is it justice you seek, Highness, or is it vengeance? Only ruin awaits you down that second path.”

Thomas met his mentor’s gaze with embers in his eyes.

“I am going after that ship, Roderick. It’s the right thing to do.”

“And if I disagree?” The Captain had folded his arms over his chest.

“Then I’ll find a way to get to the Southern Isles without your help.”

Roderick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, Highness.”

“Then come with me. Please, Captain.”

Roderick was silent for a long moment. The ocean wind tousled the Captain’s brown locks as he stared back at Thomas, conflict in his eyes.

“We’ll need a ship. A fast one.”

A slow smile crept across Thomas’s face.


	14. Southbound

The fourteen members of the Advisory Council of Weselton sat silently around the long, polished table of the conference chamber. Rays of the afternoon sun filtered in through tall windows of frosted glass, illuminating motes of dust drifting lazily through the still air.

The Duke of Weselton surveyed the men and women from his position at the head of the table. He was on edge about this meeting. The fate of the duchy lay in his hands. He went over the proposal for the hundredth time in his head, folding and unfolding his hands nervously. He adjusted his spectacles, clearing his throat.

“Let’s begin, shall we? I have recently been made aware of a threat looming over the Duchy of Weselton that threatens our economy, our alliances, and our very lives, as I shall explain shortly. As you know, the Southern Isles have been in increasing opposition with us for several decades now, going so far as to impose boycotts of our goods and hike tariffs for Weselton-bound freighters passing through their waters. We have retaliated accordingly, of course, but in the wake of my… actions in Corona, the Southern Isles may have an additional weapon in their arsenal.”

Murmurs floated around the table at the mention of Corona.

“To think this came to his mind only now,” someone muttered sourly.

The Duke recognized the voice as belonging to Countess Erica—a long-time member of the Council who seemed to make it her personal mission to find fault in his plans. His moustache twitched in annoyance, but he pretended not to notice.

“Governor Klaus informs me that the Council has already been in discussion about the potential of the Southern Isles to leverage subterfuge and blackmail to gain an upper hand in this trade war. I, however, fear that their actions may be more drastic. I believe King Mathias will attempt to frame Weselton for the attempt on the Crown Prince of Arendelle’s life, thereby goading the sorceress Queen Elsa to turn her dark magic on us!”

“Frame!” another voice scoffed. “It’s hardly framing if it’s the truth!”

The Duke felt a flare of indignant rage, but before he could retort, Governor Klaus spoke up.

“Please, Sir Kellin, let us stay focused on the matter at hand.” The Duke’s nephew glanced back at him with a slimy smile. “Besides, I think you’re missing the point. I, for one, agree with His Grace’s assessment. We could all be in grave danger.”

Klaus shot another glance at the Duke, who couldn’t help but scowl in return.

_ Trying to worm your way back into my good books, are you nephew? How long before you find the next opportunity to oppose me? _

“And what’s Your Grace’s plan to rectify the situation?” It was the Countess again, the question asked in an almost rhetorical tone. “It’s hardly as if we can win the Snow Queen’s favour from our side.”

The Duke straightened his posture, taking a deep breath.

“Yes, attempting to strengthen our relationship with Arendelle against this blackmail would be a foolish waste of time. We must act swiftly if we are to avert the Snow Queen’s eternal winter. We must strike at the head of the snake.”

The Duke paused. He looked each council member in the eyes.

“I propose a military blockade of the Southern Isles entire. We launch a surprise attack, capture or sink every ship in their navy, and completely remove their ability to contact the Kingdom of Arendelle.”

Immediately, the conference chamber exploded with gasps and hushed murmuring. The Duke clasped his white-gloved hands together firmly on the lacquered surface of the table and forced himself to sit still through the chaos.

The young Sir Kellin was the first to speak up.

“Your Grace! What you suggest is an open act of war!”

“The Southern Isles and Weselton have been at each others’ throats for far too long,” the Duke replied evenly. “If we don’t strike first, you can be damned sure they will. And if they get the Snow Queen on their side, Weselton is lost! Time is not our ally.”

“The people of Weselton can’t  _ afford _ a war, Your Grace. Not with the treasury in its current state,” grumbled Barton, the portly financial advisor, as he scratched his bushy beard. Nods went around the table at the statement. The Duke’s mind raced, scrambling for a counterpoint.

In the end, however, he didn’t need to.

“Why not kill two birds with one stone?” a gruff voice asked.

All heads turned to an older, heavyset man in a crisp grey-gold uniform near the back of the room, who had been silent up to this moment.

“What do you have in mind, Commander Leon?” asked Governor Klaus cautiously.

The commander raised a single grey eyebrow as he brought his large, scarred hands to bear on the conference table.

“Here’s how I see it. With a naval blockade set up around their waters, we could immediately lay siege to their trading network by sea. I have a feeling that any further negotiations with the Southern Isles will go quite smoothly with that as leverage!” The commander opened his palms to the rest of the Council. “Our geographical location already gives us a strategic advantage. The Southern Isles won’t even see our gunboats coming. With the state of our coffers as it stands-” Leon nodded to Barton “-we would be foolish  _ not  _ to seize this chance!”

Klaus combed back his carefully-styled hair with an absent hand.

“There’s the solution to your empty treasury, Mister Barton,” he said with a plastic grin. “With the trade tariffs lifted in the West, our profits will increase considerably!”

“Your Grace!” Countess Erica wore an expression of exasperation that echoed in her voice. “Please, think of your subjects. Winter is almost upon us. We can’t force our people into a war they never agreed to fight!”

The Duke stood, taking note of the expressions around the table. He smelled victory. He stood and leaned forward, his thick eyebrows raised above his spectacles in a mask of condescension.

“You know nothing of winter, Countess. And if I have anything to do about it, you never will, and neither will the people of Weselton!”

The Duke straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back.

“The Southern Isles has been a thorn in our side for long enough. Commander, to my study. We have much to discuss. The rest of you, thank you for your input on this critical matter. This council is adjourned.”

* * *

Captain Roderick stood at the base of the thin mast of the sloop, watching as icebergs drifted lazily by the prow in the darkness of the cloudy night. The Kingdom of Arendelle twinkled from its nestled cove between the towering silhouettes of mountains rising behind the ship, already so small that he could cup it in his hands. The wood of the mast groaned as the sails shifted angle slightly, causing the offshore winds to nudge the bow just enough to avoid the next oncoming piece of ice.

_ Edwards makes that look easy _ , Roderick mused to himself.

He had to admit this whole plan was terribly rash by the standards that a man of his station should hold himself to. They had rushed back to the castle after Thomas’s decision on the beach. After hastily scribbling a note explaining the broad details of the situation to his lieutenants, Roderick had taken the best four men he could find in the barracks and left for the docks immediately with Thomas and Sir Gingivere. Norman Edwards, the captain of the Queen’s personal ship, had thankfully been around and eager to lend his aid. With Edwards’s help, he was able to commandeer a small sloop already loaded with travel supplies from a local fisherman, who was convinced to part with it for a couple of weeks in exchange for a generous royal supply voucher.

Now, sailing away from his home in the dead of night, Roderick was left to his own thoughts. Considering that Arendelle’s navy consisted of a single ship, taking the frigate  _ Northwind  _ would have been out of the question, but nonetheless a large part of him cursed traveling in something so small and vulnerable—especially with the Crown Prince on board.

_ We’re not going there to wage war. We’re going there to intercept one person. In and out, quick and easy…  _

Roderick sighed aloud. He couldn’t even convince himself that that was anywhere near a likely outcome. Though the fishing vessel was small and nimble, the other ship had almost a full day’s head start, and probably a full crew to keep it at peak performance day and night.

_ My father is dead. My mother is dying. _

Prince Thomas’s words rang unbidden in his mind. Suddenly, it wasn’t the dark sky that filled his vision but instead the image of King Henrik’s body, face-up in a black pool of his own blood, grey eyes open but devoid of life. Roderick’s body tensed.

His own father had died of cholera before he was old enough to remember. His mother was a merchant, fiercely loyal to the royal family even after they mysteriously closed the gates to the castle. He had been barely a man when the Queen’s accidental winter had fallen over the kingdom. When his mother heard news of the attempts against the Queen’s life, she had urged him to seize the chance to join the Royal Guard and make something of himself. It was among the ranks of the Guard that, for the first time in his life, he felt like he was doing something genuinely worthwhile. Over the years, he rose through the ranks, and eventually the royals became his second family—Henrik especially, like the older brother he never had. He had sworn an oath to protect all of them with his life, and he had meant it with all of his heart.

The truth was, Roderick understood Thomas’s grief, his anger, his determination. Despite his own better judgement, he wanted those responsible for the attack brought to justice as badly as Thomas did. The bastards who hurt his family would be made to pay. It was his duty.

“Does sleep elude you as well, Captain?”   
Roderick jumped, turning toward the cabin to see Sir Gingivere standing like a statue at the top of the stairs to the captain’s cabin.

“You know, you move quietly for someone made of a hundred kilograms of ice,” Roderick replied with a chuckle. He frowned as a thought crossed his mind.

“Actually, do you even sleep?”

The icy knight tilted his head. “No, that was just an attempt at humour. I never could quite get that right… though I suppose I’m still learning.”

Roderick chuckled again. He gestured to the cabin door behind Sir Gingivere.

“Is the Highness asleep?”

“To the best of my knowledge. Master Thomas has certainly had quite the day.”

Roderick nodded darkly. “We all have.”

Sir Gingivere strode down the stairs until he was level with Roderick on the deck. The frozen knight’s footfalls beat heavily on the planks of the deck.

“Tell me, Captain, what do you know of this Southern Isles to which we are sailing? What awaits us on the other side?”

“Well…” Roderick scratched the stubble on his chin. “The Southern Isles is a group of settlements on various small isles in an archipelago. The territory is ruled from the mainland by a King Mathias. They’re at a very convenient position for trade with neighboring countries, including Arendelle, though that’s been tenuous since their Prince Hans attempted to usurp the throne after Queen Elsa’s coronation.”

“This Prince Hans, he is the same Hans as the man we pursue?”

“If the prisoner’s words are to be believed. Though, I see no real reason for him to have lied,” Roderick added.

Sir Gingivere nodded in satisfaction.

“And what of their military prowess?”

Roderick shrugged. “They have a lot more citizens than we do, and with so much of their territory covered by water, I’m sure they have a robust navy. But the Southern Isles hasn’t been directly involved in a major military conflict in almost a century.”

He paused for a moment, remembering past conversations in King Henrik’s study.

“I have heard King Mathias has no reservations about profiting off of others’ wars, however,” he added sourly.

A soft grating of ice sounded as the knight turned his helmet to face the Captain.

“Do you think it was this King Mathias that ordered His Majesty’s assassination?”

Roderick’s eyes darted around Sir Gingivere’s empty helmet.

“I can’t say, Gingivere,” he replied uneasily. “I don’t think any of us can. The only information we have is that Prince Hans of the Southern Isles employed that man in the dungeon to take the lives of the King and Queen. That’s enough for me.”

For a moment, there was only the soft wash of the waves on the keel. Abruptly, the knight spoke again.

“I certainly hope we catch that ship, Captain. If we do not, I fear we may not return.”

There was an eerie note of finality in his tone that had Roderick raising an eyebrow.

“And why’s that, Gingivere?”

“Because Master Thomas’s conviction is too strong,” Sir Gingivere answered simply.

Roderick turned his gaze back toward the bow, glowering darkly into the pitch-black sea. He let out a small sigh that was carried away by the wind.

_ As is mine. _

* * *

At first, everything was blindingly bright. Little by little, the oversaturation of ethereal light subsided, slowly revealing the figures of Kristoff and her sister wearing expressions of shock and relief beneath an overcast night sky.

Elsa realized she was on the ground. With a groan of exertion, she lifted her head and tried to push herself into a sitting position. Immediately, Anna was by her side.

“Elsa no, don’t strain yourself.” Her sister cradled her head in her lap. “You’ve been through so much, you need to rest.”

Anna sniffled, and Elsa noticed the redness of recent tears in her eyes.

Clarity hit her with the force of a train. The assassins. The muskets. Henrik, her love of two decades, shielding her with his body as a bullet tore through his heart. Elsa’s hands balled into fists. She crawled stiffly out of her sister’s arms.

“How long have I been out?” she croaked. A horrifying thought rose in her mind that had her clutching Anna’s hand.

“Is Thomas alright?” Snowflakes began to drift through the air around them.

Anna placed a soothing hand on her shoulder.

“Thomas is fine. Well, as fine as anyone can be after… you know.”

Her sister’s eyes suddenly narrowed with concern as she studied Elsa’s face.

“Elsa, there’s something in your eye!”

A wave of confusion washed over Elsa. She dragged herself to the side of Kristoff’s sled, placing a hand on the snow-covered surface and freezing part of it to a mirror finish. She gasped at the image she saw in the reflection.

Her face stared back at her from the smooth ice, gaunt and wide-eyed. A shard of soft white light emanated from the upper portion of her left iris, pulsing and dimming as if it had a life of its own. She took her hand off the sled hesitantly, backing away from her impromptu mirror. As she did, she saw the light slowly fade. Soon it had disappeared entirely, leaving nothing but the regular clear blue of her irises. She turned back to Anna as she fought to quell the slow panic rising in her chest. It was only then that she noticed the figure of an ancient rock troll standing behind her sister, his mossy body sagging in fatigue.

“Pabbie. You brought me back.” A tone of worry crept into her words. “What did you do to me?”

“Elsa!” Anna exclaimed. “He saved your life!”

“No,” the troll said in a low voice, giving Anna a feeble smile before turning his gaze to Elsa. “Olaf’s sacrifice saved your life, Your Majesty. I was merely the conduit.”

Elsa blinked, breathing heavily. Almost on their own, her hands moved to the part of her blouse that had been cut away, finding the edge of the thick bandages wrapped beneath the swell of her breasts. Gritting her teeth in preparation for the pain, she unwrapped the cloth from her chest with the sickening sound of crumbling masses of dried blood.

The pain never came. The stained bandages fell away, revealing pale skin puckered in a long, raised scar along her ribcage, as if the wound were months old. She dazedly ran a finger over the area, shivering as she felt the edges in the coarse skin.

Anna laughed as tears of relief flowed freely down her cheeks, tackling Elsa in a hug that left her gasping for air. Elsa hugged her sister back weakly, her eyes still fixed on Pabbie’s.

“I… saw things, Pabbie. Visions. Of the past and, I think, the future, too.”

She pulled back from Anna’s embrace, holding her sister by her shoulders.

“I saw Thomas, Anna. It was like that scene in the auroras that Pabbie showed us when his powers first started. I saw it happen like I was there!”

“Elsa, listen to me,” the old troll commanded, his voice heavy and grave. “Yours is a fundamental magic. Even I do not understand it fully. As I said, I am only a conduit. My prophecies come in flashes, inklings. A vague memory, a sudden intuition. But you, Elsa, you drank deeply from the source itself. I can only imagine what it showed you.”

The scene of the man in the blizzard—her son—echoed with painful clarity through her mind. She turned to Kristoff with a new urgency in her eyes.

“We need to get back to Arendelle. Thomas is in danger.”

Kristoff shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Elsa, but the slopes are way too dangerous at night,” he replied, raising his hands imploringly. “Also, Sven needs to rest.” Her brother-in-law gestured to his reindeer companion, who lay fast asleep still attached to his harness at the head of the sled.

“You can shelter here until the morning. You will be safe here,” said Pabbie with a nod. He locked with Elsa eyes once more. “And Elsa, a word of caution. The future is not set in stone. Your own story is proof of that.”

With the low rumble of stone, the ancient troll curled in on himself and rolled away into the mists.

Anna took Elsa’s hand.

“You need to rest. Come on.”

Her sister helped her to her feet and began pushing her back toward the sled. Elsa opened her mouth to protest but was silenced by the wave of fatigue that threatened to drown her after a couple of steps. She felt herself being lifted off the ground by Anna’s strong arms. As she was lowered into the sled, the worn leather of the seats felt more comfortable than any bed.

“Shh, Elsa.  _ Where the North wind, meets the sea… _ “

As the familiar notes of their mother’s lullaby soothed her ears, sleep took her quickly.

* * *

Elsa awoke to the sensation of motion and the soft sound of compacting snow beneath metal skis. Groggily, she tried to sit up, only to find that she was pinned beneath a mass of coats and blankets. She heard a familiar snoring from somewhere near her chest. Despite everything, she smiled.

Gingerly pulling herself free from underneath her sleeping sister, Elsa peered over the edge of the sled. Dense pine forest drifted past, the boughs on the trees sagging with the glittering white of fresh snow. Snowflakes drifted lazily down from the thick grey skies above.

Brushing snow from the shawl that Anna had evidently dressed her in, she carefully stepped over the threshold to join Kristoff at the front of the sled.

“Oh, good morning, Your Majesty,” her brother-in-law called as she sidled up beside him on the bench. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“How long have I been out?” Elsa asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Probably fourteen hours or so.”

Elsa shot up in her seat, but Kristoff cut her off before she could reply.

“Hey, don’t worry! Sven woke me up at the crack of dawn. We’re almost back in Arendelle.”

Elsa slumped back on the bench.

“You should have woken me.”

Kristoff glanced over at her with concern in his eyes.

“No can do, Elsa. You literally got shot yesterday. I’m no doctor but I reckon you should be in bed for a good while longer.”

Elsa folded her hands in her lap, letting out a breath.

“Thank you, Kristoff, but we both know I can’t do that.”

She turned her attention to the surroundings once more. The grade of the slope was lessening, and she could see the rising towers of castle Arendelle above the trees in the distance.

“How long until we arrive at the castle?”

“Not long now.”

Gradually, the snow-covered ground of the mountain pass gave way to gravel, then to cobblestones as they entered the town of Arendelle proper. Elsa couldn’t help but notice how few people were out on the streets compared to how it was usually. The folks who were around did double takes as the sled blew past them, holding on to their hats and craning their necks for a better look.

_ “Hey, slow down!” _

_ “Wait, was that the Queen?” _

_ “Queen Elsa! …” _

_ “... heard about assassins …” _

_ “... what happened? …” _

Elsa nodded and waved courteously, trying to ignore the trepidation that was balling in the pit of her stomach.

“What are we going to tell them, Elsa?” Anna’s soft voice sounded from behind her.

She turned to find her sister sitting behind her with her knees drawn to her chest, uncharacteristically quiet and sullen as they passed the townspeople. Elsa took a deep breath, her posture straightening by instinct.

“We tell them the truth. As soon as we find it out for ourselves.”

Even as the words passed her lips, fresh doubts began to surface in Elsa’s mind.

_ Who was responsible for all this? Arendelle has operated under a policy of peace for generations. _ Her brow furrowed.  _ Who would want Henrik dead? Who would want  _ me _ dead? _

Suddenly, a terrible suspicion rose in her mind.

“Elsa.”

Kristoff’s voice broke her dark train of thought. Her brother-in-law gestured over Sven, where the long bridge to the castle lay ahead. The gates were closed, flanked by two stern-faced men dressed in matching green uniforms and shakos embroidered with golden crocuses. Recognition lit the guards’ faces as the sled drew nearer, and they hurried to pull open the heavy doors.

“Your Majesty!” one of the men exclaimed, wearing an expression of surprise and awe. “You’re alive!” Elsa caught the other guard shoot the first an admonishing glare as the sled moved past them onto the bridge.

The set of doors on the castle side of the bridge opened inward, revealing Kai standing in the courtyard backed by a contingent of four more royal guards. As soon as the sled came to a halt, the guards dropped to one knee in unison. The aged servant rushed forward to meet Elsa as she stepped to the ground, bowing quickly before looking her up and down with open concern.

“Your Majesty, it’s a miracle!” he exclaimed, tears welling in his eyes. “I… forgive me, Your Majesty, but when the doctors told me you were being taken up the mountain, I feared the worst.”

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you again, Kai. The trolls were able to bring me back, with some help,” Elsa explained with a sad smile. “Olaf gave his life to save mine.”

Kai nodded gravely.

“I am… sorry to hear that, Your Majesty. I cannot say I understand your gift, but I am glad that it helped you in your hour of greatest need.”

The doors to the castle burst open as Annabeth and Christopher spilled into the courtyard. They rushed Elsa together, enveloping her in a double embrace as they laughed with relief.

“Aunt Elsa, I was so worried!” Christopher mumbled into her shoulder.

“I told you she would make it.” Annabeth pulled back to punch her brother on the shoulder. “Mother is always right about these things.”

Elsa’s smile slipped from her face as she realized that someone was distinctly absent from the courtyard. She turned to Kai.

“Where is Thomas? Is he alright?”

Kai’s gaze shifted downward slightly.

“About that, Your Majesty. I think you’ll be wanting to speak to Lieutenant Anja.”

Elsa’s eyebrows knitted together. She felt tendrils of frost spread over her palms.

“What do you mean? Where’s Captain Roderick? Where’s my son?”

“They are away, Your Majesty. The Lieutenant will explain better, I believe Captain Roderick entrusted the situation with her before he left.”

Elsa sucked in a calming breath. Frost began to creep across the stone at her feet.

“Very well, take me to her.”

With another bow, the servant moved off in the direction of the barracks. Elsa turned to her family, flashing her sister a brittle smile before following after Kai.

As they entered the castle atrium, an urgent voice sounded from far to their left.

“Queen Elsa!”

A younger woman emerged from the hallway to the barracks, clad in the crisp green uniform of the royal guard. Her short black hair was tied back in a tight bun, the badge sewn into her lapel identifying her rank as that of a Lieutenant. Her dark eyes widened slightly as they beheld her Queen’s torn and haphazard attire, but she immediately crossed her arm over her chest in a stiff salute.

With a nod from Kai, Elsa walked briskly up to the Lieutenant.

“You must be Lieutenant Anja. What’s the situation? Do you know where my son is?”

“Your Majesty, Captain Roderick came to me last night with a note informing me of his plan to escort Prince Thomas to the Southern Isles.”

Confusion and horror flashed in Elsa’s eyes.

“ _ What? _ Why? Why would they possibly need to go to the  _ Southern Isles? _ ”

Anja winced slightly at the panic in the Queen’s words. Her words came in a staccato stream of information.

“To the best of our knowledge, there were three assassins that attacked you and King Henrik. The first two were slain before they could be captured, but we managed to apprehend the third. Captain Roderick has reported that through interrogation the assassin disclosed that he had been under the employ of a certain Hans of the Southern Isles.”

Elsa’s blood ran cold at the mention of the name.

“The Captain and Prince Thomas have gone to bring the perpetrator of this attack back to Arendelle to face justice,” the Lieutenant finished, taking a moment to catch her breath.

Elsa could only stare back incredulously. The soft sound of crackling ice snapped her out of her moment of shock. Looking down, she saw that most of the atrium floor had frozen over beneath her feet.

“There’s more, Your Majesty,” Anja added in a small voice, pointedly keeping her gaze fixed on the Queen’s and not on the spreading ice. Elsa nodded numbly.

“We found this on the body of one of the other assassins.” The Lieutenant handed her a wrinkled piece of paper. “Have a look.”

Elsa unfolded the paper with trembling fingers. It was a letter. Between splotches of water and smudged ink, the message that stared back at her was still terribly clear.

They were instructions.

_ 10 000 Crowns …  _

_ … of KING HENRIK OF AREN …  _

_ On the day … celebration _

And beneath the words, the unmistakable imprint of a stamped coat of arms. Her breath caught in her throat as she scrutinized the symbol. It was the coat of arms of the Duchy of Weselton.

“The Duke of Weselton ordered my husband dead?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“All the evidence would point to that being the case. Even the muskets are Weselton make.”

Anja ran a hand over her forehead in frustration. “All the evidence except one, that is. The prisoner insists that the Southern Isles are culprit. His story has remained completely consistent between five interrogations. We haven’t shown him the evidence against Weselton, of course… which suggests that he believes he’s telling the truth.”

Elsa carefully handed the letter back to the Lieutenant, who pocketed it smartly before squaring her shoulders and fixing Elsa with an imploring look.

“What are my orders, Your Majesty? What are we to do next?”

Elsa closed her eyes. Her mind flitted between memories and images in an accelerating slideshow. The crossbow bolt loosed from the Duke of Weselton’s henchman, suspended moments from her face by her ice. Hans’s expression as he told her she had killed her sister. The blood flowing from Thomas’s neck in a dark bedroom in the Coronan royal palace. The smell of acrid musket smoke.

A man surrounded by soldiers in a blizzard, raising his hand in a swift, violent motion.

Her eyes snapped open, filled with cold resolve.

“In Captain Roderick’s absence, I’m appointing you as the new Captain of the Guard, Anja.”

Anja saluted again, her voice carrying a hint of nervousness.

“I am honoured, Your Majesty. I will serve you well.”

Elsa nodded.

“Captain Anja, ready the  _ Northwind _ for departure, and inform Admiral Felix that we sail for the Southern Isles.”

“The  _ Northwind… _ ” Anja’s eyes widened. “Are we going to war, Your Majesty?”

“No.” Elsa’s voice carried an undertone of steely determination. “We are going to bring my son home.”


	15. Retribution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “White Scimitar”  
> [Brian Tyler – “Order of the Assassin” (Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag OST)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOGYGfqlo5Y)

_ The air is still and bitterly cold. He stands on a vast plain of black, featureless ice. The night sky above him is clear, the plain lit by colourless light from the impossibly large face of the moon cresting the horizon. _

_ Silhouetted by the moon is the figure of a man, facing away from him. Somehow he knew this man was  _ him _. The man who ordered his death. The man who had his father killed. _

_ He walks toward the figure, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His feet make clear, pealing notes upon the ice beneath them. The figure does not seem to react. He is running now, his breath coming hard and fast, making jets of steam in the night air. He is almost upon the man. He raises his fist to strike. _

_ A deep shudder resonates across the infinite plain. A long fissure opens in the ice in the space between him and the man. The ground cracks. He is thrown off his feet, sprawling forward onto a chunk of ice as it floats apart from the rest in what is suddenly a splintering ice field. Thick, opaque mist encroaches the sky, dimming the moon and blurring the figure ahead of him. He tries to push himself to his feet, but the piece of ice wobbles in the water and he is slipping. Falling. _

_ He hits the frigid water and it engulfs him. He kicks out frantically, struggling to keep his head above the surface. He tries to swim, but his clothes are so heavy in the water. _

_ He reaches for the ice within, but finds nothing. _

_ He sees the figure turn. He sees the man stride out of the mist toward him. He struggles to see his face, but it is veiled in shadow. _

_ His vision goes dark as he sinks beneath the waves. _

* * *

Thomas’s eyes opened slowly to the gloom of the ship cabin. Sunlight filtered in from above, stained yellow by tattered, moth-eaten curtains. The bare bench of a bed he was laying on teetered gently from side to side, the portraits of the family who owned the sloop wobbling on the wall with the motion of the sea. He pushed himself up slowly, the threadbare blanket sliding from his shoulders and piling at the end of the bed. He looked around the cabin where he had been sleeping for the past five nights, finding Sir Gingivere sitting by his usual spot by the entrance.

The knight’s helmet tilted quizzically.

“Good morning, Master Thomas. Everything alright?”

Thomas gave him a weak smile, trying to shake the sense of unease and frustration lingering from the dream.

“I’m fine, Sir Gingivere. Just… missing my own bed.”

He certainly was not lying in that regard. Though he was loathe to admit it, growing up in the royal castle had nurtured in him a very high standard of comfort. He was sure, however, that the conditions aboard the fishing vessel were sub-par for even the average commoner. The hard, unforgiving bed with no mattress coupled with the pervasive smell of fish had kept him fitfully awake for the first two nights. Since the third, his nose had finally begun to grow accustomed to the scents of the sea, and the gentle rocking of the ship had been able to carry him off to sleep from sheer exhaustion, though he awoke with aches and pains down his back.

He shook himself to wakefulness, arching his back and wincing at the popping of several vertebrae. He laced up his black dress boots, now stained with dirt and sea salt. Getting to his feet and stooping beneath the low ceiling, he grabbed his coat from a rusted hook on the wall—the same blue-green coat embroidered with gold accents that he had been wearing for his birthday celebration, eons ago. He leaned forward, combing his unruly white bedhead to one side as he regarded himself in the faded mirror hung near the door. A tired face stared back at him, wrinkled with fatigue and sleep deprivation.

“Andre delivered breakfast a bit before you woke up, Master Thomas.”

Sir Gingivere handed Thomas a paper-wrapped parcel of biscuit rations and a tin of canned sardines. The prince took the rations with a sigh.

“Would you look at that. Biscuits again. What a surprise.”

“Apologies.”

Thomas thought he heard a teasing note in the knight’s voice. Rolling his eyes, he punched Sir Gingivere in the shoulder as he pulled open the door. On a whim, he took the scabbard by the doorway and looped the strap over his shoulder before climbing up to the deck. The weight of his father’s sword hung comfortingly at his side.

The cool ocean breeze wafted away the musty air of the cabin. Clear blue sky stretched to the horizon in all directions, the strong wind making small, white-capped waves of the otherwise featureless sea surrounding them. Absently nibbling on a biscuit, he walked to the stern of the ship to join Captain Edwards at the helm.

“Morning, Your Highness!” Norman greeted, turning his gaze from the horizon. “Did you sleep better last night?”

Thomas shrugged halfheartedly.

“I slept.”

The older man nodded gravely.

“I understand. It takes a while to grow those sea legs.” The captain patted him on the arm good-naturedly.

“Any developments since the sun came up?” Thomas asked. Norman unclipped a small spyglass from his waist, handing it to him and pointing out toward the front of the ship.

“See for yourself, Your Highness.”

Laying down his paltry breakfast, Thomas extended the spyglass and peered over the prow toward the horizon. At first, there was nothing but the sky and the sea. Then something caught his eye, a blemish on the otherwise perfect curve of the ocean surface. He squinted at the distorted image projected through the spyglass lens.

It was a dark sail.

“That’s them!” he exclaimed, thrusting the spyglass back to the captain with eager hands. “We’re catching up!”

Norman carefully returned the spyglass to his belt before fixing Thomas with a concerned look.

“That’s… the good news. The bad news is we’re about to enter Southern Isles waters. At this rate, we’ll be there by sundown.” The captain broke Thomas’s gaze for a moment, coughing nervously. “Your Highness, it isn’t my place to ask, but what is the plan if we don’t catch up with that ship in time? We’re defenseless on this boat, and if what you say is true, the people in charge over there don’t seem exactly friendly.”

Thomas fixed Norman with a determined stare, his mouth drawing to a thin line.

“We’ll catch that ship, Captain.”

He stretched his arms out by his sides. Exhaling, he slowly opened his palms. The deck lurched under their feet as a gust of frigid wind started up above them, the sails groaning as they were filled to bursting by the gale-force air. The dark wood of the mast began to turn white under a glimmering coat of frost. The parcel of biscuits that he had laid on the quarterdeck railing blew away like so much confetti.

“Your Highness, whoa!” the captain yelled, suddenly battling the helm. The bow began to bob up and down as the sloop accelerated, throwing sprays of foam over the prow and onto the deck.

“We’ll catch that ship,” Thomas repeated through gritted teeth.

_ No turning back now. _

* * *

_ “Land ho!”  _ came a shout from the top of the mainmast.

Hans squinted past the glare of the early-afternoon sun off the waves. He could just make out the outline of low rolling hills dotting the water in the distance, shadowed by a sparse scattering of clouds. They were approaching the first of the Southern Isles. A smile of relief lit up his face.

_ Almost home. _

He stepped down from his position on the captain’s deck, sipping from a tin of herbal tea that had long gone cold. He grimaced as his stomach roiled with the lurch of the galley as it hit a larger swell. He had been seasick from as young as he could remember, and despite having been on the ocean countless times since, his body still simply did not agree with the nauseating motion of the waves. The two-week round trip to Arendelle had left him in quite the foul mood, indeed.

He absently made his way toward the front of the ship. Shiphands stood and bowed hastily as he passed by, but he paid them no heed. Taking another look at the cloudy brown liquid in his cup, his mouth curled in disgust and he tossed the tea over the side with an angry motion. He watched as the dark droplets met the foamy white of the water washing up against the ship’s lacquered hull.

_ Some remedy that was…  _ He shook his head at himself.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the isles in the distance drew closer. Hans could make out the white rectangles of dwellings sticking out from the green hillsides. The larger hills of the mainland rose over the horizon, and as he shielded his eyes with a hand, he thought he could discern the shape of the castle nestled between them in its ocean-facing nook among the shades of brown of the capital city.

He went over the mission report again in his head.

_ Mission success. King Henrik of Arendelle is dead. Queen Elsa was injured, but is very much alive. The operatives used firearms of Weselton make and carried letters of instruction marked with the coat of arms of Weselton. The assassin Marcus Everett accompanied them. All were killed in action, and all evidence points irrefutably to Weselton as the perpetrator of the attack. _

“All evidence points irrefutably to Weselton.”

Hans tested the words on his tongue, trying to shake the seeds of doubt that had taken root during the journey back from the Snow Queen’s kingdom.

_ Brother, this is pure folly. _ Joseph’s words echoed hauntingly in his mind.

Hans trusted his operatives to elude capture, even if the alternative was death. He trusted them to execute Marcus Everett if he tried to escape. Even if Queen Elsa had been mortally wounded, he trusted that her son was more than capable of exacting vengeance against Weselton in her stead. And yet… 

_ You’ll never get away with this. _

_ Oh Anna, I already have. _

His jaw clenched. That day had changed the course of his life. Upon his return home, the King had recognized his cunning and ambition and sought to use it for his own purposes—after making him shovel manure for a couple of months, of course. Hans the Prince died that day, and Hans the Spymaster was born. In the years since, he had never failed a single mission, but the spectre of that first bitter failure lingered like a perpetual bad taste in the back of his mouth. A part of him no longer trusted anything he did not witness with his own eyes.

After all, he could not afford to fail again. Mathias never forgave.

“Sir, we have a situation.”

Hans whirled in the direction of the voice, nearly striking the captain in the face with his empty cup. The captain, to his credit, did not flinch.

“My apologies, captain. You startled me,” Hans said smoothly. His brow furrowed as the meaning of the captain’s words sunk in. “What situation?”

“The lookout has spotted something behind us. Looks to be a ship, sir.”

Hans stiffened. He carefully adjusted the collar of his coat before nodding.

“Let me have a look.”

He marched down the deck to the stern as quickly as he could without breaking into a run, keeping his expression carefully neutral to the deckhands. As he ascended the stairs to the rear platform, he could already see a fleck of white rising above the water in the distance. Reaching the back railing, he all but snatched the spyglass from the captain’s hands, peering intently through the lens.

It was a small, single-masted vessel, bobbing up and down in the waves with terrific speed. Hans could not make out any identifying markers on the ship from the spyglass image, but it was clear that it was making in their direction with great haste.

“Could it be a merchant vessel? Visiting dignitaries?” he wondered aloud. He already knew the answer.

The captain shook his head rapidly.

“Nothing comes from the North this time of year, sir. The waters are too treacherous with the ice floes.”

Hans lowered the spyglass, handing it gently back to the captain.

“Do you think we were followed from Arendelle?” he asked softly.

The captain took a moment to study the instrument before he raised his eyes to meet the Spymaster’s.

“That would be the most likely explanation, sir.”

Hans nodded, turning back to the horizon and clasping his hands behind his back.

“Tell the men to extend the oars and trim the ship for maximum speed. Fly the flag in distress. Do it quickly, Captain,” he ordered in a calm, even tone.

“Yes, sir!”

He heard the captain scramble back down the deck and begin barking orders. With a single, furious motion, he drew back his right hand and slammed his fist into the dense wood of the railing. He hissed as the numb pain of the impact traveled up his arm.

_ You’ll never get away with this. _

* * *

“The severity of the Snow Queen’s attack on Weselton is difficult to predict. However, if her actions against her own kingdom two decades ago are any precedent, we can safely assume complete destruction of naval infrastructure and agriculture in the area.”

Kurt Weiss, King Mathias’s head military advisor, made jerky, energetic gestures from the other side of the war room table as he spoke. Prince Joseph struggled to keep his disdain from showing on his features. The advisor was always dressed in the ceremonial uniform of the Southern Isles army, as if he was expecting to go marching off to war at any moment. Joseph eyed the glittering pins festooning Weiss’s lapel sourly.

_ At least half of those must be family heirlooms. _

King Mathias looked up from the large map laid out on the surface of the table, grinning widely to his advisor.

“We can swoop in after the dust has settled with soldiers and supplies. The people of Weselton will hail us as heroes!” Mathias exclaimed, chuckling.

“Your Majesty, surely that would appear suspicious,” Joseph cut in. “We don’t exactly have a penchant for lending aid to other territories during times of disaster.”

His older brother turned, a gleam in his eye.

“Ah, but this will be no ordinary disaster, will it, Admiral?” Mathias asked, his expression smug. “This will be the result of a foolish old duke who poked the hornet’s nest in pursuit of his own selfish vendetta, at the expense of his own people! Weselton deserves better than a man like that in charge, and we will give it to them.” The King turned back to Weiss. “How long after the attack should we wait before sending our ships?”

The advisor rubbed his hands together gleefully.

“As soon as the forces of Arendelle withdraw from Weselton, Your Majesty. I see no reason to delay. The faster we acquire Weselton’s assets, the faster we reap the rewards!”

An exasperated sigh slipped between Joseph’s lips.

“And what if Arendelle doesn’t withdraw her forces? Hell, what if Queen Elsa decides against going to war at all? What makes you so sure things will go in this exact way?”

“Watch your tone, little brother.” Mathias’s own tone grew icy. The King stood back, folding his arms over his chest. “And stop worrying so much. People are simple, you see. Kill those whom they love, and they will seek vengeance. Deliver them aid in times of crisis, and they will feel indebted. Are these not self-evident facts, Brother?”

The Admiral’s half-formed retort was interrupted by a frantic knocking on the war room door. Raising an eyebrow, the King turned toward the doorway.

“Who is it? You’d better have a good reason to disturb the King during a meeting!”

Without waiting for an answer, Mathias yanked the door open, revealing an out-of-breath guardsman standing in the hall.

“Your Majesty, Admiral, pardon… my intrusion,” the guard got out between gasps. “The  _ Raven _ has been spotted. The flag… flies inverted.”

“A distress signal?” Joseph frowned. He glanced to his older brother.

“Lead on,” the King ordered. Turning back to Weiss, he held up a finger. “We’ll continue this discussion momentarily.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The advisor bowed, still grinning. Joseph scowled.

The guardsman hurried down the hallway, beckoning for the royals to follow. Joseph and Mathias’s shoes beat an urgent rhythm on the hard marble flooring. The guard ran up a set of stairs, opening a door to a section of lower battlements. As the Admiral and the King emerged onto the parapets, the guard gestured frantically toward the bay.

Joseph shielded his eyes against the setting sun, peering toward the waters far below. He saw Hans’s dark galley cutting across the bay making straight for the harbor, the rows of oars on both sides fully extended and beating the water rapidly. The flag of the Southern Isles flapped in the wind, its symbolic axehead and coat of arms decidedly upside-down.

Then he saw the white sail of a second ship out in the open ocean behind the  _ Raven _ .

“They’re signalling for help,” he murmured.

Mathias let out a growl of anger from beside him.

“They were followed! Hans, you stupid, incompetent  _ fool! _ ” The King whirled to face Joseph, a single, trembling finger pointed to the horizon. “Admiral, go help your idiot brother. I want that other ship at the bottom of the sea!”

Joseph frowned.

“Your Majesty, that seems a drastic course of action! That ship is tiny, and even if it were armed it would be no match against the  _ Raven’s  _ own armaments. We don’t even know if it hails from Arendelle. It could be some lost merchant for all we know!”

Mathias advanced, prodding Joseph’s chest with a heavy finger and forcing the Admiral to take a small step backward.

“The threat of Arendellian eyes aboard that ship is enough, Admiral. I will not have our plans compromised. There is too much at stake. Now get out there and  _ sink that ship _ . That is an order!”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Joseph stormed past his brother back into the castle, gritting his teeth in frustration.

_ You’re putting innocent blood on my hands, Brother. _

* * *

Roderick was on edge.

The looming hills of the Southern Isles mainland drew closer with every passing moment. Already, he could make out individual shops and houses lining the winding road up from the harbor and the layered battlements of the royal castle presiding over the city at the top of the valley, its walls painted brilliant gold by the late-afternoon sun.

_ They have to have seen us by now. _

The black galley that they had been chasing since the morning floated a frustrating distance away in front of the bow. It had extended its oars and was making for the harbor with every ounce of speed it could muster. He could see the figures of men working on the deck and crawling up on the rigging like uniformed ants. The flag of the Southern Isles billowed upside-down atop its largest mast.

“They’re signalling for help,” muttered Captain Edwards from beside him at the helm. “That can’t be good for us.”

Roderick turned to Thomas, who was still standing in the same spot at the quarterdeck railing, summoning forth arctic gales with his face screwed into a grim mask of concentration.

“Your Highness, we cannot sustain this chase for much longer!”

Thomas seemed not to hear him. Roderick stepped in front of the prince, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him roughly.

“Thomas, take a step back for a moment and  _ think! _ What do we do if they reach the harbor? We don’t have the manpower to take on the Southern Isles army!”

Thomas shook himself free of the Captain’s grip, glaring back with a searing ferocity in his eyes. Roderick recognized that look. It was the look of someone who would not concede defeat. It was the look of someone who would fight to his last breath.

_ Just like I trained him to. _ A slow dread began to build in his stomach.

Abruptly, another shrill voice cut through the howling air.

“Captain! We have company!”

Terese, one of the guards, was pointing toward the harbor with panic written on her face. Roderick followed her finger with his eyes. A second ship had pulled onto the sea, originally obscured by the hull of the galley in front of them. Bright white sails loudly proclaimed the axehead of the Southern Isles navy in purple facsimile. As the ship drew closer, Roderick’s blood ran cold.

It was a brigantine, its curved prow already eclipsing the galley’s hull despite its current distance. Its thick, striped keel split the water ahead of it in a raised mound, carving its way straight toward them with an unstoppable momentum. As he watched, ports underneath the forepeak slid open as the gleaming black iron of forward-facing cannons extended into view.

“Edwards, turn us around,” Roderick ordered.

“The wind, sir!” Edwards gestured with his head toward Thomas, fighting the tiller with both hands.

Roderick grabbed Thomas’s raised hands in his, sucking in a breath at the gelid temperature of the prince’s skin.

“Highness, listen to me. That is a Southern Isles warship bearing straight for us. We need to turn back  _ now _ or we are going to the bottom of the bay! Do you hear me, Thomas?”

Gradually, the arctic winds subsided. Immediately, the ship’s bow began to veer away from the stern of the dark galley. Thomas’s shoulders sagged as his arms fell limp, his hands still held in Roderick’s. There were tears in his eyes. Roderick gave the prince a sympathetic nod as he let Thomas’s hands slip from his own.

A sharp crack sounded from across the water. Before anyone could react, the ocean thirty metres to their right exploded in a huge plume of white.

“Thomas, get down!” Roderick bellowed. He leapt on the prince, driving them both to the deck.

“They… they’re firing at us,” Thomas said with a dazed expression.

Another deafening blast sounded, a cannonball whizzing through the air toward them to impact the water beside the hull with a splash that drenched the deck..

“They’re gaining on us!” yelled Captain Edwards, fear creeping into his voice. “We could really use some wind in the other direction, Your Highness!”

Thomas raised a hand in the air from his position on the floor, grunting with exertion. The rigging groaned as the sails caught another gust of frigid wind. A shadow fell over the sloop as opaque grey clouds began coalescing in the sky above. The ship began to accelerate again, this time in the opposite direction of the incoming brigantine.

Another explosion. Shards of wood flew through the air as a cannonball carved a splintering hole through the stern railing. One hand still on Thomas’s back, Roderick twisted his gaze over his shoulder to find the warship was now between them and the galley. It was still getting closer.

“Highness, we need to go faster!” came a panicked shout from Captain Edwards.

Thomas’s eyes were screwed shut in concentration. Snowflakes began to drift down around them, tossed about in swirling eddies by the wind. The clouds above them grew heavier, spreading out until they blotted out the orb of the sun.

Another blast, this one closer than all the ones before. The tinkling of heavy chain links filled the air.

The entire ship shuddered as the mast exploded in a shower of splinters.

* * *

Joseph watched as the mast of the sloop was struck by chain shot, the sails attached to it teetering and flapping feebly as it fell like a broken toothpick off the side of the hull and into the water. He could see the meagre crew scrambling in terror about the deck of their now-crippled vessel.

“Sir, the second forward cannon is ready to fire!”

Joseph regarded the officer standing smartly at attention at the stairs to the quarterdeck. He raised his hand in the air wearily.

“Fire.”

_ “Fire!” _

A cloud of black smoke rose over the bow as the cannon roared. He watched the projectile carve a path of destruction through the target vessel’s hull, sending tattered ribbons of wood flying as it opened a gaping hole in the side of the ship.

_ Abandon ship!  _ he thought he heard a faint shout. He forced down the bile rising in his throat.

The ship he was tearing apart with cannon fire had never been a threat. Now, it was simply trying to flee.

A light scattering of snow drifted down to mingle with the immaculate white of his uniform. He frowned up at the dark clouds that had suddenly filled the sky, holding out a hand to catch a snowflake. He watched the tiny ice crystals melt in his palm.

_ Strange, the sky was clear when we left port. _

“Sir?”

Joseph blinked, putting his hand back by his side.

“Yes, officer?”

“What are our orders, sir? We are coming within range, shall we begin a broadside?”

Joseph opened his mouth, willing himself to say the words.

_ Orders are orders. _

“Prepare for broadside attack.”

_ “Manoeuvre for broadside!” _

The massive sails creaked as they pivoted. He saw the helmsman turning the tiller in furious rotations as the  _ Scimitar White  _ listed starboard, bringing all her portside guns to bear on the target. He heard the rapid clicking of the gunports as they slid open in near unison.

“On your mark, sir!”

Joseph inhaled slowly. He raised his hand. For one impossible moment, he saw a snowflake suspend itself in mid air in front of his face.

Then something massive slammed into the hull of the  _ Scimitar _ .

* * *

Thomas saw the mast snap in half as it was shredded by whipping chains. He saw the towering warship powering toward them in the still water of the bay. He saw it turn on its side to show the cannons bristling from its hull like countless unseeing eyes.

Thomas felt helpless, hopeless, terrified. For the second time in his life, he was staring in the face of death.

_ I have no sword. _

_ That is your decision. _

A sudden calm washed away the fear, replacing it with cold clarity. He pushed himself to a stand with trembling arms.

This was no place to die.

He closed his eyes, reaching inward. The magic was alive, pulsing with eagerness, begging for release. In that moment, he understood the vastness of the water beneath him, felt the delicate dance of every snowflake in the air around him.

Opening his eyes, he reached down and  _ pulled _ .

A mountain of black ice surged out of the sea, colliding with the side of the brigantine with a crash louder than thunder. The warship groaned as it teetered backward from the impact, cannons pitching skyward as its deck tilted dangerously. With a cry of exertion and rage, Thomas pulled again, blue-white sparks flashing between his fingers. A second monolith of ice exploded from the water, this one long and narrow, piercing through the bow of the warship like it was made of paper and raising it out of the water. He brought his hands upward, willing the shapes in his mind to materialize in the water. A third dark stalagmite shot from beneath the waves, crumpling the hull where it struck. The brigantine groaned as it toppled over, its bow tearing free of the spike on which it was impaled and crashing down to meet the sea with a mighty splash. There came distant shouts and screams as white-clad men were hurled bodily from the deck and rigging.

“God almighty…” he heard Captain Edwards whisper. “Your Highness, you saved us!”

But Thomas barely heard him. Behind the wreckage of the warship, he could see the shape of Hans’s galley. It had reached the harbor. His eyes narrowed.

The wind began to pick up, causing his coat to fly wildly behind him. He took hard, deliberate steps to the edge of the deck.

“Your Highness!” he heard Roderick shout. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing what they started.”

He stepped off the edge of the ship. The water solidified under his feet in glowing fractals. The snow began falling harder, whipped into a blizzard by the rising wind. He heard Roderick yell something else, but the words were taken by the storm.

He took a step toward the harbor. Then another. Then another.

He was running now, past the capsized warship, a jagged bridge of glistening ice growing in front of him with every step. The wind grew to hurricane strength, propelling him forward like a massive hand. The distant form of the black galley filled his entire vision.

The capital city drew closer, its tiled roofs and narrow streets already coated with a dusting of white. The storm clouds had eclipsed the castle now, casting a grey shadow over the once-vibrant walls. Thomas saw citizens look to the sky in terror, some hugging themselves in the sudden cold, others fleeing into their residences like startled rats.

Every trace of remorse was wiped from his heart when he saw the men running up the main road toward the royal castle.

_ You killed Father. _

He was almost to the galley now. He threw his hands out in front of him, summoning a frozen ramp from the water’s surface to the edge of the ship’s deck. Propelled by the wind, he skidded up the slick surface and over the railing, landing on the deck on his hands and knees.

Shouts of surprise and heavy footfalls sounded from in front of him. He drew himself to his feet to find two men dressed in purple military uniforms edging toward him with spears.

“Stop! How did you get here?” one of them shouted.

“Get out of my way,” Thomas uttered through his teeth.

“Under authority of King Mathias of the Southern Isles, I-”

The man never got to finish his sentence. Thomas raised his hand and made a fist. A blunt barrier of ice smashed into the soldier from below, throwing his limp form across the deck. The other soldier blanched.

“N-no, that’s impossible!”

The man broke into a sprint in the other direction, his spear clattering to the ground. Thomas strode onto the pier, his eyes locking onto winding road up to the castle ahead. He started running again. The ground went from the aging planks of the pier to the paved stones of the city proper. People shrank from him on sight, bolting into alleyways or shielding their children with their bodies. Thomas barely even registered them in his mind. He had eyes only for the figures ahead making for the castle gates.

The wind howled in his ears. Snow froze to his jacket, drawing glistening patterns of crawling black frost across his shoulders and down his chest.

A figure charged at him from just within his peripheral vision. He whirled, barely dodging a sweeping cut from the soldier’s sword. Four more soldiers emerged from the surrounding streets, swords held high as they advanced toward him in a closing arc.

“Where is Prince Hans?” Thomas yelled at them.

The soldiers remained silent, bearing down on him with slow steps.

“Prince Hans killed my father.” He drew his own sword from its sheath in a single swift motion, teeth bared in rage.  _ “Where is he?” _

One of the men ran at him with a yell. Thomas parried the swing with his sword, ducking under a swipe from a second soldier. He backpedaled as another soldier swung at him, roaring and taking a swing of his own at the first soldier’s midriff.

The man was ready for him. He found his first swing met with hard steel. He reared back for a second, but he found his breath suddenly knocked out of him as another of the men took him in a charging tackle. His sword flew out of his hand, sliding away from him with a metallic clatter.

“Quickly, get him while he’s down!”

Thomas struggled under the soldier’s grip, but the man would not let go. With a cry of frustration, he  _ pushed. _ There was a sickening crunch as the soldier was impaled by three wicked icicles. Dark rivulets of blood steamed as they ran down the cold, translucent surfaces, the man’s twitching body suspended a metre off the ground.

Thomas pulled himself to his feet to find the other soldiers had retreated to a wary distance.

“Sorcerer!” one of them yelled, voice trembling with fear.

_ “Kill him!” _ shouted another.

They charged him together. This time, Thomas was ready.

He sidestepped the first swing, a long halberd materializing in his grip as he spun around. Face contorted in a grimace of rage, he slammed the halberd into the attacking soldier’s chest. He let go, springing backward as he raised a narrow barrier to block another soldier’s blade. Throwing his arm out in an arc, he let fly a blast of magic into the ground at the remaining two soldiers’ feet. Jagged spears of ice exploded upward, piercing their bodies as they cried out in agony. He heard the last soldier running up behind him. He pivoted in a swift motion, a gleaming pike already crackling into existence in his hands. The man impaled himself on the end of the weapon, a look of shock on his face as he crumpled to the ground.

Somewhere, a child screamed.

Looking up, Thomas saw the gates of the castle close behind the entourage from the galley. He broke into a sprint. The howling grew louder in his ears.

Hans was escaping. Nothing else mattered.

The road was empty now, the feeble light of the street lamps flitting between the dense particles of snow filling the air. He heard window shutters slamming in the fierce wind as his own hair was blown in wild directions.

The tall castle gates grew in his vision. He drew closer, his footsteps slowing as he gazed up at the tall archway.

Suddenly, the gates opened. Soldiers, eight of them, poured out onto the street. In their hands they clutched rifles, each one leveled straight at him.

_ Like the ones used against Mother and Father. _

There was nothing but white rage.

Thomas raised his arm. Sparks flew in a glowing nimbus between his clawed fingers. The soldiers did not have a chance to react. Spears of ice erupted from the ground with deadly speed. The blood of eight men splattered across the snow-covered stone of the castle walls.

He took a breath. Then another. He stepped toward the now-open gates.

Heavy footsteps echoed off the pavement behind him. Familiar footsteps. An armoured gauntlet grabbed his left shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He heard a gentle voice by his ear.

“Master Thomas, I cannot in good conscience allow you to enter that castle.”

Thomas did not turn.

“Let go of me, Sir Gingivere,” he said quietly.

The knight of ice moved in front of him, folding his arms and standing immobile between the prince and the gate.

“Captain Roderick was right, Master Thomas. This path you walk, it leads only to ruin! Look around you.” Sir Gingivere gestured to the raging blizzard. “You need to stop this!”

Thomas shook his head.

“I can’t. Not while Prince Hans is still free.”

“Master Thomas, what do you plan to do when you catch this Hans? Are you going to kill him? And what after? The entire Southern Isles army, too?” The knight pointed a single icy finger to one of the impaled bodies beside him, helmet tilted in accusation.

“Get out of my way, Sir Gingivere,” Thomas growled.

With a ringing of ice, Sir Gingivere drew his sword and planted its blade firmly in the ground between the paving stones at his feet.

“No, Master Thomas. I swore an oath to protect you! I cannot allow you to destroy yourself.”

Thomas moved to draw his own sword. His fingers closed on empty air.

He had forgotten to retrieve his father’s blade from the street.

“Get out of my way. I won’t ask again,” he hissed.

“Is this what your mother would want, Master Thomas?” Sir Gingivere’s voice carried a bitter note of sorrow.

Thomas’s jaw clenched. Tears blurred his vision.

“Mother may already be dead, because of  _ him. _ ”

He extended his arm out beside him. A pitch black blade grew from his hand with the sound of crackling frost—a copy of his father’s sword.

“I am sorry, Master Thomas.” With finality, the knight clasped both hands on the hilt of the sword in front of him.

Thomas thrust out his hand. A blunt pole of ice shot from below Sir Gingivere’s feet, sending the frozen knight crashing into the castle wall. The knight leapt to his feet with inhuman speed, charging back toward him with footfalls that shook the ground. With a flourish, he summoned a thick wall to block Sir Gingivere’s advance as he dashed for the open gate.

Sir Gingivere was faster. A cold, hard shoulder collided into Thomas from the side, catapulting him off his feet and onto his back. Struggling for air, he propped himself up on his elbows to find the knight standing in the middle of the gateway, feet planted wide. He pushed himself back to his feet, breathing hard.

_ “Damn you!”  _ he yelled raggedly.

He charged, swinging his sword down upon his once-guardian with all his strength. The dark blade shattered on the knight’s breastplate, sending a jarring spike of pain up his arm. Sir Gingivere did not move. Thomas tossed the remnants of the sword aside, smashing his bare palms into the knight’s chest and pushing to no avail. The perfect plates of armour he had constructed as a child were as firm and unyielding as the day he made them.

But Thomas could sense something else beneath, a living energy coursing through the ice that echoed like a forgotten song. In the moment, he did not think. He did not hesitate.

He reached into the energy and willed it to  _ freeze _ .

Black veins of frost crawled out from beneath his hands, spreading across Sir Gingivere’s chest in a dark wave. The knight fell to his knees. Icy gauntlets gripped Thomas’s wrists as Sir Gingivere tilted his empty helmet up to meet his master’s gaze.

“I have failed you, Master Thomas. Forgive me.”

A hollow sigh emanated from the visor. The suit of armour disintegrated, interlocked pieces of armour coming apart as the magic that had held them together vanished. The helmet that once housed Sir Gingivere rolled to a stop at the prince’s feet.

Thomas felt a single tear roll down his cheek.

_ “Now, fire!” _

There was a sudden, searing pain in his left shoulder. He staggered backward, clutching at the point of impact with his hand.

_ “Again, the leg!” _

Another blast of musket fire. His leg gave out underneath him as white hot agony flared in his thigh. He toppled to the floor on his stomach, blinking in shock at the warm blood covering his hand.

As he tried to push himself off the ground, he saw Sir Gingivere’s sword sticking up among the grey stones of the city street. It glittered a perfect, iridescent blue even under the feeble lamplight.

Then something hard and blunt connected with the back of his head.


	16. Survivors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Royal Rage"  
> [Two Steps From Hell – “Requiem for Destruction”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9xK_rv4y24)

Anna could not sleep.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired. These past days had been some of the longest of her life—and coming from someone who once pulled an all-nighter to climb to the top of the North Mountain, that was saying something. But even though her muscles were sore and her very bones ached with fatigue, sleep would not take her.

Every time she closed her eyes, she could only see Elsa bleeding through her bandages on the infirmary bed. She dreaded the nightmares that would come if she did allow herself to finally drift off. The nightmares were worse.

She rolled over between the sheets, turning away from Kristoff’s slumbering form to glance out the window. The curtains were drawn open, an old habit from her childhood. Wisps of cloud floated in the deep night sky. Behind them, she saw faint ribbons of green light dancing between the stars.

_ The sky’s awake. _

With a quiet sigh, she extricated herself from under Kristoff’s arm, making sure not to wake him as she slid carefully to the edge of the bed. Blowing a stray tuft of hair from her face, she tiptoed to the bedroom door and stole out into the hallway.

The silence of the castle in the dead of night held a special place in Anna’s heart. It reminded her of simpler times, when her parents would tuck her into bed and she would sneak down to the library after they’d fallen asleep to spend the wee hours hungrily poring over romance novels by candlelight. Her feet made the same soft padding sounds on the carpeted floor, and for a few precious breaths she could almost lose herself in her memories and forget that her world had been turned upside-down.

Almost.

She wasn’t sure where she was planning on going. By instinct, her feet followed a familiar path through the halls. She found herself slowing as she approached her sister’s bedroom.

Even after she had married Henrik, Elsa still spent much of her time in her room. Though she rarely slept there anymore, she used it as her study and went there whenever she needed space to think. Although Elsa had never explicitly said anything, Anna suspected she still held onto the sense of security the closed door gave her—especially during times of stress.

Her sister’s door was closed. Flickering yellow light filtered out from the seams in the doorframe. Anna raised a hand to knock, hesitating for the briefest of moments.

_ Tap tap tap-tap tap. _

“Elsa? Elsa, are you in there?”

No response.

Frowning, she tried turning the door handle. It was unlocked. She eased the door open, poking her head inside.

The room was dimly lit by two racks of candles: one on the windowsill and the other above her sister’s desk. The desk itself was covered in neatly-arranged stacks of documents and parchment. The lower half of the desk was currently occupied by Elsa’s head. The Queen was slumped over in her chair, dressed in a purple silk nightgown. Her head rested on her arms, her usually immaculate platinum-blonde hair undone in an unruly cascade over her shoulder.

Shoulders which shook to the sound of soft, weak sobs.

In a flash, Anna was at her sister’s side, wrapping a gentle arm around her Elsa’s waist.

“Shh, hey, it’s alright. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

She felt Elsa’s back stiffen. Her sister turned, hastily wiping tears from her eyes.

“Anna, I… why aren’t you asleep?”

She smiled sheepishly. “The sky’s awake?”

Elsa smiled back, but it did nothing to dull the immense sadness in her eyes. Anna leaned closer.

“Come on Elsa, talk to me, please?”

Elsa took a shuddering breath.

“H… Henrik is gone. The only person other than you who really, truly understood me, cared for me, loved me… the only man who I ever  _ dared _ to love. Just,  _ gone _ .” She was biting back tears. “Thomas doesn’t have a father anymore, Anna,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Oh, Elsa.” Anna pulled her sister into a tight embrace. She felt Elsa’s tears soak into the shoulder of her own nightgown. “Henrik may be gone, but you still have me. And Tom still has you.”

Elsa pulled away, sniffling.

“But for how long, Anna?” Her sister’s voice was raspy from crying. “Don’t you see? This is all because of  _ me _ . My powers, my  _ curse _ . Isn’t this what Pabbie warned about from the beginning?” Her voice was barely audible now. “Henrik died because of me.”

There was a soft crackling sound as veins of frost began to spread up the leg of the desk.

Anna cupped Elsa’s face in her hands.

“ _ No _ , Elsa. The actions of evil men are not on your hands. This is not your fault.”

“Anna, listen to me.” Her sister’s gaze abruptly grew intense. “Those assassins carried weapons and letters from Weselton. And now there’s a prisoner down in the dungeons who says the Southern Isles is to blame. There is no way my powers don’t have something to do with this!”

“Look, Elsa, even if that were true, that doesn’t make it your fault…”

Something on Elsa’s desk caught Anna’s attention. She gently picked up the piece of parchment, the fingers of her other hand moving to lace between her sister’s. Fresh ink shone in the candlelight, arranged in the beautiful shapes of Elsa’s flowery cursive. As she read the words on the page, however, she was filled with a sudden dread. Her grip on her sister’s hand tightened.

“Elsa, what’s this?”

“It’s the proclamation I’m giving tomorrow.”

“And what’s this about you  _ sailing for the Southern Isles? _ ” Anna’s voice pitched higher in panic. “When were you going to tell me about this?!”

“Anna, please don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Elsa’s voice took on a pleading tone. “Thomas is out there as we speak. I need to protect him.” Her sister’s voice broke. “I can’t lose him, too.”

Anna stared at the parchment for a long moment. As she placed it back on the desk, she locked eyes with Elsa determinedly.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Anna, no. Someone needs to look after the kingdom while I’m gone.”

“Elsa, literally any of your advisors would be better at that than me. That’s an excuse and you know it.” She folded her arms over her chest. Her sister sighed, her gaze directed toward the floor.

“I can’t let you follow me into the lion’s den,” Elsa whispered. “I need to know that you’re safe.”

“I’m safest when I’m with you,” Anna retorted.

“After everything that’s happened, that couldn’t be farther from the truth!” her sister cried in exasperation.

“Oh yeah? Who else has crazy amazing ice powers to protect me?” Anna sensed her opening, and she took it. “What if someone else attacks while you’re gone?”

Elsa recoiled as if physically struck. Anna felt a small measure of guilt at the dirty victory.

“Just… let me come with you. Please?” she asked softly. “I’ll stay out of harm’s way, I promise.”

Her sister’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Once we’re on that ship, you will do exactly as I say.” Elsa looked to her with steel in her eyes. “If I tell you to flee, you will not hesitate, no matter what happens. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Anna piped.

“Good.” Her sister’s expression softened.

Anna scooped her sister into another tight hug. This time, she felt Elsa lean into the embrace.

“You have to give yourself a break, sis,” she murmured in a soothing tone. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I can’t, Anna. Nightmares,” Elsa mumbled into her shoulder.

“You too, huh?” Anna chuckled sadly. She got up and walked across the room to Elsa’s bed. It was so much smaller than she remembered.

“Come on, I’ll sing you a lullaby.”

Elsa slowly rose from her chair and sat down next to her on the bed, resting her head in the crook of Anna’s shoulder. Anna began humming. She felt Elsa relax as her sister’s body sank into hers. She idly brushed back stray platinum strands from her sister’s forehead.

“Anna?” Elsa murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Elsa’s breathing slowed and deepened as Anna continued to hum. Soon, she had fallen asleep in Anna’s lap.

* * *

The room behind the balcony had never seemed so empty.

Elsa checked herself in the mirror on the wall a final time. Her face stared back at her, her features as expressionless and cold as if they had been hewn from a block of ice. The redness rimming her eyes from the night before had been concealed under elegant strokes of eyeliner, the bags under them hidden expertly under a thin layer of makeup. Her hair was done up in an elaborate braided bun, wrapping around her head like a crown. She wore a flowing navy blue dress that covered her from her neck to the floor, its bodice lightly embroidered with crystals of ice.

She would not wear her mourning colours yet. Not until Thomas was safe.

She glanced at the tiara sitting on its velvet cushion by the mirror, then shook her head at herself.

_ Not today. _

Clenching her hands with resolve, Elsa turned to the guards standing at attention by the balcony doors.

“Open the doors.”

The hinges swung open silently, letting the pale winter’s sun wash over her. She clasped her hands in front of her and strode into the light, her posture poised and regal. Kai greeted her from the balcony.

“Presenting Her Majesty the Queen, Elsa of Arendelle!” he announced to the crowd.

The hubbub of the townsfolk died down as their queen came into view. A thousand expectant eyes gazed up at her from the courtyard below. Elsa took a deep breath.

“Thank you for gathering here today on such short notice. For those of your family and friends who could not make it, I trust you will inform them of what I am about to share with you.” She paused, placing her hands on the balcony railing. “My son’s eighteenth birthday was three days ago. During the celebration, three men were able to sneak into the castle. At approximately two hours past noon, an attack was made against King Henrik and me. The King was killed.”

A hushed gasp rose from the crowd as murmurs began to break out. Elsa pushed on.

“All the men responsible have either been executed or apprehended by the Royal Guard. Their motives are as of yet unclear, and their origin is currently unknown, but for the moment I can assure you that we have dealt with the immediate threat. My own sorrow is immeasurable, but I cannot mourn until the perpetrators of the attack are found. The people behind this heinous act must be brought to justice. To that end, I will be sailing for the Southern Isles with a diplomatic envoy to follow a lead uncovered during interrogation of one of the prisoners. In my absence, I leave Governor Halvor as my proxy until my return.”

She swept over the crowd with her gaze.

“Stay strong, my people. Though we have been struck by tragedy, Arendelle will endure.”

Raising her head high, she turned and strode back into the castle. The balcony doors closed behind her with a low thud. With a sigh, she allowed her posture to slump as she took a moment to lean against the wall.

“Your Majesty, is everything alright?” called Kai from behind her, concern touching his tone.

“No, Kai.” She turned to give the aged servant a small smile. “But it will be.”

“Is there anything I can do to ease your mind, Your Majesty?”

“Please send for Admiral Felix to see me in my study in an hour. I must discuss final preparations for the journey.”

Kai bowed. “Consider it done, Your Majesty.”

Elsa listened as Kai’s footsteps faded down the hallway. After a few breaths to steady herself, she drew herself upright and made swiftly in the direction of the dungeons, gesturing for the guards to follow.

There was one other person she needed to talk to.

* * *

Marcus Everett yanked halfheartedly at the chains securing him to the floor of the dungeon cell. He hissed in pain. The cuffs were beginning to wear his skin raw. He considered dislocating his right thumb to free his hand so he could try to get his feet undone before he realized that it was a fool’s errand without a left hand to begin with.

The door to his cell had not opened again since the sorcerer prince had come to interrogate him. On two occasions, a plate of grey, tasteless gruel had been pushed into reach from the slot at the bottom. They had not provided him with a spoon to eat it with, so he had to slurp it from the bowl like a dog. The waste-bucket had begun to fill up, and the smell was becoming unbearable.

He held no illusions of hope in his mind at this point. He had been caught with the same group of men who killed the King of Arendelle. The only reason they were even keeping him alive was so they could have him publicly executed. He lazily considered putting up enough of a ruckus that he could provoke a premature execution at a guard’s blade to save himself the ordeal. He had heard that the methods of killing those convicted of treason were particularly unpleasant.

The sound of footsteps outside his cell door shook him from his dark thoughts. He heard metal sliding against metal as the locking mechanism was undone. The door opened, revealing a stern-faced guard. The man walked in and retrieved the waste-bucket with an expression of disdain.

“Man’s got to take a shit, don’t he?” Marcus cackled.

More voices sounded from the doorway.

“... here. Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, he can hardly harm me.” It was a woman’s voice.

“Very well, Your Majesty.”

Before Marcus could fully register the implication behind the words, the woman to whom the voice belonged strode into his cell. She seemed utterly out of place in the darkness and filth of the dungeon. She wore a fine, flowing navy dress that reached to the floor. Her ice blue eyes stared out at him from a pale, flawless face framed by striking white hair.

A familiar face. Sounds of gunfire echoed in his memory.

Under any other circumstances, he would have been mesmerized by the woman’s beauty, but he felt his eyes drawn instead to the crystal patterns embellishing her dress. His eyes widened as he saw the way they refracted the dim light shining from the barred window.

They were made of ice. The same ice that had impaled that other man with metre-long spikes.

The woman swung the door of the cell gently shut behind her. She took a step toward him, fixing him with a gaze that belied ice-cold detachment. Marcus found himself shuffling backward on the cot.

“You… you’re her,” he stammered. “The Snow Queen.”

“Some call me by that name, yes.” She took another step toward him. “From what my guards tell me, you’re the man who tried to kill my son in Corona three years ago.”

Marcus could swear the air was getting colder.

“I didn’t have a choice!” he found himself crying before he could stop himself. “They were going to kill me if I didn’t-”

“And who is ‘they’?” The Queen’s voice carried a calm, undeniable authority.

“Some bloody noble, I never caught his name. Look, he had his guards about to string me up and slit my throat. I would never have agreed to a job like that if my hands weren’t tied!”

The Queen was silent for a moment. Her hard eyes burned into him, as if searching his very soul.

_ She can’t do that, can she?  _ Marcus swallowed, trying to steel his nerves.

“Why did you tell my son that the Southern Isles sent you?” the Queen asked abruptly.

“Because it’s the truth! They had me locked in their dungeon for  _ two years _ and they promised me my freedom after this job.” He paused, another memory rising to the surface. “Although one of the other men tried to kill me with his last breath, so I doubt that promise would have been kept,” he grumbled bitterly.

The Queen studied him with an unreadable expression. Her next words came out slowly.

“So the Southern Isles weren’t the ones who sent you to kill my son in Corona?”

Marcus shook his head. “I don’t think so. They were wearing different uniforms that first time, had different accents.”

The Queen was silent. Her gaze shifted as her eyes narrowed in thought. Her left hand moved into the folds of her dress, reappearing with a slip of parchment which she held out to Marcus. He took the piece of paper cautiously, skimming it over.

“What’s this?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” The Queen’s tone was even, emotionless.

Marcus’s brow furrowed as he read over the message in more detail.

“Looks to be some kind of bounty on the King,” he replied haltingly. “But I’ve never seen this letter before in my life.”

The Queen raised a delicate eyebrow.

“Really? We retrieved it from the body of one of your accomplices.”

Marcus scowled in spite of his growing fear.

“I didn’t even know the names of those other men! I was only told to follow them while they did their dirty work.”

He thought he saw the Queen’s perfect composure crack for the barest moment to be replaced by an expression of intense fatigue and pain. When he looked again, however, it was gone.

“And that symbol,” she continued, gesturing to the stamp at the bottom of the letter. “It means nothing to you?”

“It looks official,” Marcus frowned. “Beyond that, nothing.”

The Queen nodded, more to herself than to him. She moved back to the cell door and knocked on it twice. Immediately, the door swung open, revealing the same stern-faced guard.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Have this man bathed and clothed more appropriately for travel. Then have him moved aboard the  _ Northwind. _ ”

“Right away, Your Majesty.”

Marcus’s brow furrowed as the meaning behind the Queen’s words sunk in. He rushed forward on the bed, shackles pulling taut with a painful jerk.

“Wait! What’s happening?” he yelled.

The Queen turned in the doorway, her expression stern and impassive.

“I’m taking you with me to the Southern Isles.”

The door closed with a hard slam. Marcus slumped back onto his cot, trying to steady his rapid breathing.

He had just been face to face with the Snow Queen of Arendelle herself. The woman whose husband he had helped murder. Hesitantly, he looked around the room. There was not a hint of ice to be found anywhere.

It was a while before his breathing calmed.

_ Well at least I’m not fucking dead, _ he mused sourly.  _ Yet. _

* * *

Hans struggled in the firm grip of the guards that were practically frog-marching him down the hallway. The doors to the King’s court slammed open in front of him, bathing him in harsh yellow light. The grand pillars surrounding the edges of the court came into view, towering to gradiose heights before they met the frescoes on the ceiling. His eldest brother stood by the throne, currently in animated conversation with a younger woman whose face was hidden by curly locks of black hair. As he drew closer, Hans recognized her as Princess Iona, Mathias’s only heir.

Noticing the intrusion, the King immediately turned to face the entourage, dismissing his daughter with a wave. Iona took a few steps behind the throne, surveying the situation with curiosity. Mathias looked like he was about to protest, but fixed his furious gaze on Hans instead.

“Welcome home, brother.” Mathias’s tone was anything but welcoming. “Care to explain this fine little fiasco you’ve dragged back with you?”

Hans yanked his arms free from the guards holding him before sinking to one knee.

“Your Majesty, I assure you the situation is not as it seems,” he stated calmly, keeping his gaze fixed firmly to the floor under the King’s feet.

“Is that so? Perhaps you could begin, then, by explaining how an  _ unarmed fishing boat  _ managed to sink one of our best warships! Or how the entire mainland has been struck by a blizzard in the middle of November! Or  _ perhaps _ -” Mathias’s voice grew low and deadly “-you can explain the soldiers found impaled in the streets by icicles the size of lamp posts!”

Hans did not move.

“Your Majesty, I believe we have in custody Crown Prince Thomas of Arendelle,” he stated flatly. “The prince shares in his mother’s powers and went on a rampage through the city after he arrived yesterday afternoon.”

He saw his brother’s shining boots move down the stairs from the throne to stop right under his nose.

“You knew the prince had the Snow Queen’s powers and yet you elected to keep this information from me, Spymaster?”

Hans swallowed involuntarily.

“Your Majesty, I believe that with Prince Thomas in our hands we wield more power than we ever did framing Weselton.”

“Do you now?” The boots began to pace. “And how did young Prince Thomas decide to pay a visit to our shores in the first place, Spymaster? How is it that he went on a rampage through  _ our  _ streets and not the streets of Weselton?” The boots stopped.

“Look at me, Hans.”

Hans turned his gaze upward to find his brother’s face mere centimetres from his own. The King’s eyes were wide with barely-contained rage.

“I am going to tell you exactly what is going to happen. The Crown Prince of Arendelle will either bow to my wishes himself or be held ransom in exchange for the Snow Queen’s aid in destroying Weselton. Everything  _ will _ proceed as planned henceforth.” Mathias turned back toward his throne, moving two steps away from Hans’s kneeling figure. “But the fact of the matter stands, brother. You have utterly and  _ spectacularly _ failed me.”

A suffocating sense of unease constricted Hans’s chest. He stood instinctively, but as he tried to back away from the throne, he found his arms pinned once more by the guards flanking him. Still facing away from him, his brother slowly brought his right hand to the hilt of the glittering ceremonial longsword he wore at his hip.

Ceremonial, but still deadly.

“In light of these events, it would appear that I will be needing to employ a more capable Spymaster.”

The King drew the sword with a ringing of metal, whirling back to face Hans with the blade held high. Hans struggled with all his might against the grip of the guards holding him, but the men held him in place, immobile as a set of vices.

Suddenly, another voice pierced the tense air.

“Papa, no!”

Princess Iona dashed forward from her position behind the throne, grabbing onto her father’s arm just as he was about to make his strike. The King spun and struck his daughter savagely across the face with his free hand, leaving her staggering backward from the blow.

“Iona, how  _ dare  _ you…” Mathias sputtered in fury.

“Please, Papa, he’s your own brother, you can’t just kill him!” the princess cried, holding a hand to her bruised cheek as tears began to well in her green eyes.

Mathias stared back at her, his whole body trembling with rage. With a sob, the princess covered her face with her hands and dashed from the room.

“Iona, wait!” the King shouted after her.

Mathias sheathed his sword slowly, breathing hard. Hans noticed his brother’s shoulders had lost some of their tension. The King turned back to regard him, embers still burning in his gaze.

“Lock him in the dungeons,” he growled to the guards with a dismissive wave. “Get this slime out of my sight!”

Mathias stormed off in the direction of his daughter as Hans felt himself pulled bodily back in the direction of the hallway. His heart beat a rapid rhythm in his chest as he tried to calm himself after the panic of the confrontation.

_ Not dead yet, _ he thought faintly as he was dragged down flight after flight of stairs.


	17. Underground

Consciousness trickled back to Thomas gradually. He cracked his eyes open, groaning at the terrible ache that pervaded his entire body. Shifting on his back, he tried to get into a more comfortable position.

A soft tinkling of metal registered in his ears. He tried to pull his arms toward his face but found them restrained. Confused, his eyes snapped open fully.

It was only then that he realized he was not sleeping in a ship’s cabin. He blinked in the gloom, dimly making out grey cobblestone walls slick with damp and mildew. Feeble, jaundiced light filtered in from a tiny square window in the black-iron door at the opposite end of the cell. Looking down, he found himself laid out on a hard, brown-stained cot. His hands had been fully bound—no,  _ encased _ —in steel mittens that were secured to the wall by heavy chains. Looking down, he discovered he was still clothed in the same attire that he had worn during his arrival at the Southern Isles, though his coat and scabbard had been confiscated.

Still half delirious, Thomas tried to sit up. As he moved to prop his torso with his arm, a bolt of blinding pain flared in his shoulder. He heard the sound of someone screaming. It was a moment before he realized the sound was coming from him. Immediately, footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the door.

Thomas slumped back down, panting. He twisted his neck to try to get a better glimpse of his shoulder. The left sleeve of his shirt had been cut away, revealing pink-stained bandages tightly enrobing the area between his arm and his neck. His eyes drifted down his body to his right thigh, where similar bandages had replaced his pant leg.

Taking care to use his good arm this time, he pushed himself to a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the burning in his muscles as he swung his legs over the edge of the cot. The events of the recent past flashed behind his eyes. The warship. The soldiers. Sir Gingivere, standing between him and the castle gate.

_ Oh God…  _

Fresh tears welled in his eyes as he remembered the sight of the empty, lifeless helmet at his feet, the blue ice crawling with black veins. His guardian’s last words echoed hauntingly in his memory. Helplessly, his mind turned to images of uniformed men surrounding him, eyes wide and unseeing, pierced through the chest by dozens of wicked icicles. His icicles.

_ I killed him. I killed them all.  _ His breath caught in his throat as a wave of nausea washed over him.  _ What have I done? _

He jumped at a sudden slamming noise from the cell door. He heard cogs turning and pins sliding before the hinges groaned open, revealing the figures of several men silhouetted by the light of the dungeon hallway.

“Be careful, Your Majesty, he’s dangerous,” muttered a gravelly voice.

“Don’t worry yourself, warden. We’ll take it from here.”

A tall, broad-shouldered man stooped beneath the low doorway, polished black boots sounding on the stone floor as he stepped into the cell. He was dressed in a deep purple shirt covered at the chest by a dark waistcoat accented with elegant, flowing patterns embroidered in gold thread. He wore a long winter cloak over his shoulders, the grey of the fur collar matching his neatly-trimmed beard. Dark eyes gazed out at him from a square-jawed face framed by grey hair slicked back behind his ears, ending at the nape of his neck. Thomas thought the man’s face looked vaguely familiar from nights spent perusing documents in his parents’ study.

Behind the first man followed two others, evidently guards, wearing low berets that almost covered their eyes and stiff-shouldered purple uniforms bearing the coat of arms of the Southern Isles. At their sides, Thomas saw the gleam of thin rapiers.

The men stopped in the centre of the room. The leader regarded Thomas with a gentle smile.

“You must be Prince Thomas of Arendelle.” The words were soft and kind.

Thomas gave a small nod.

“This must have been a hard few days for you,” the man continued, a gleam of pity in his eyes. “But where are my manners? I am King Mathias of the Southern Isles.”

Thomas nodded again.  _ So that’s how I know his face _ .

“I must apologize for the state of your accommodations, Prince Thomas, but after what you… did out there yesterday, I must put my men at ease.”

“Why are you doing this?” Thomas blurted out, his voice raspy from disuse. “How can you be so civil with me after I killed so many of your soldiers?”

The King grimaced at his words.

“You did terrible things yesterday, Prince Thomas, this is true. But there has been an even greater transgression whose fault falls on my hands. I have heard of the tragedy that has occurred in Arendelle, of course. Your father was a good man, kind and just from what I knew of him.” King Mathias paused, looking down at his hands as he clasped them together. “I must admit to the unsanctioned and heinous actions of one among my brothers. It has only recently come to my attention that Hans was staging another attempt to usurp the throne of Arendelle. By the time my men discovered his treasonous plot, it was already too late.”

Thomas stared back at the monarch in silence. The King sighed.

“I know this is no consolation for the enormity of your loss, but for what it’s worth, I am truly sorry. The man responsible, whom I loathe to call a brother, has been stripped of his titles and possessions and currently awaits judgement in this very dungeon.”

“He’s here?” A hint of the rage of the day before flared in Thomas’s chest.

King Mathias nodded.

“We have put him in a different wing.” The King smiled knowingly at Thomas. “As much as it would bring me pleasure to see poetic justice dealt upon the criminal by the victim himself, as King, I must follow my own protocols when dealing with a crime of such severity.”

“Your Majesty,” said one of the guards in a flat tone.

“Yes, I am almost done, Francis,” King Mathias replied with a hint of annoyance in his voice. He gave Thomas another warm smile. “Forgive me, I am quite busy dealing with the repercussions from everything that happened yesterday. There is one thing I must ask of you, however. A blizzard still rages over the capital city. The people fear significant property damage if it continues. If you would call off the storm, it would decrease tensions for all of us.”

_ The storm is still going?  _ Thomas tried not to let his surprise show on his face.

“Where are the men who came with me?” he asked instead. “Are they safe?”

“My soldiers detained six others from Arendelle, five men and a woman. If you would like to see them, however, you must  _ call off the storm. _ ” The King’s expression grew stern as a hint of steel tinged his words.

T-homas held the monarch’s gaze for a moment before closing his eyes. He concentrated on the font of energy within him, searching for the source of the blizzard. Slowly, he became aware of a flickering thread stretching outward from his core in all directions, crackling with the fury of a tempest. He took a few deep breaths, willing the energy to calm and subside. He felt a sensation of release as the thread dissipated, like a muscle relaxing after having been tensed for a long time. He opened his eyes again to face King Mathias.

“I’ve stopped the blizzard. Now let me see my men,” he stated evenly.

“Francis, ask the warden to bring one of the Arendellians.” Thomas thought he saw a hint of relief in the monarch’s eyes.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The guard marched briskly out of the cell. The King turned back to Thomas a final time.

“I am sure you have a thousand other questions, Prince Thomas, but I am afraid they will have to wait. I will return soon, you have my word.”

With that, the King exited the room, second guard in tow. The heavy black door swung shut behind them with a resounding bang.

Thomas frowned to himself. If what the King had said was true, his father’s death had been the result of the actions of a single madman, and not a plot launched by an entire nation. From what King Mathias had said, it certainly seemed to make sense. But something still nagged at him from the back of his mind. The King had seemed so genuinely ashamed and apologetic, and yet… 

And yet it had been a royal navy warship that had nearly sent him and his men to the bottom of the sea.

_ Something doesn’t add up. _

He heard the door unlock again.

“Five minutes!” growled the voice of the warden as Captain Roderick stumbled into the cell, evidently having been pushed from behind. The door closed again with a slam.

“Captain!” Thomas exclaimed, forgetting his injuries as he tried to rush forward from the bed. His leg gave out under him and he stumbled to the floor with a clattering of chains.

“Thomas!” he heard Roderick shout. “Thomas are you alright?”

He pushed himself awkwardly to a sitting position with his chained right hand, returning Roderick’s worried gaze with a weak smile.

“I’ve… I’ve been better,” he admitted. To his relief, the Captain himself seemed relatively unharmed excepting a few scratches and bruises, though his hands had been bound behind his back.

“You’ve been _shot!”_ Roderick hissed as he took in the prince’s wounds. Concern quickly morphed to anger in the Captain’s eyes. “Thomas, what the hell were you thinking? Running off into the city to face a legion of soldiers on your own? That’s the exact opposite of everything I’ve ever taught you! It’s a damn miracle you’re still alive!” The Captain began pacing back and forth in front of the prince.

“Roderick, I…”

Roderick whirled, silencing Thomas with a glare.

“You were supposed to turn back, Thomas! If you’d just changed the direction of the wind a few moments sooner, that ship would never have caught us, and we wouldn’t be sitting here locked up in a Southern Isles dungeon! Why didn’t you  _ listen to me?” _

_ “Enough!”  _ Thomas yelled, tears in his eyes. There was a faint groaning and popping of metal as frost began to envelop the steel cages binding his hands. “I know what I did was wrong, I just… didn’t think, alright? I just wanted to avenge Father.”

He remembered the feeling of the halberd’s blade sinking into the soldier’s chest as he swung it with deadly intent. A sob burst from his throat.

“Oh God, I killed so many people. I tore them apart! I killed Sir Gingivere. I barely even realized what I was doing… I just wanted to avenge Father!” The words came out in a torrent. Tears dripped from his chin and splattered on the rough stone floor. “I’m a monster,” he whispered. “This is exactly what Mother was afraid of. You never should have trained me.”

Roderick was silent for a long time.

“There are a lot of things that I regret right now. Training you is not one of them,” the Captain stated in a low voice. “I shouldn’t blame you, Highness. This is just as much my fault as it is yours. I let my own anguish cloud my judgement, and because of it you nearly died. For that, I ought to be discharged from the Guard.”

The cell door swung open with a jarring creak.

“Time’s up, move along!” yelled the warden.

Roderick straightened up with a sigh. As he walked to the door, he paused for a moment as if about to say something else, but then continued walking to the exit in silence. The door groaned shut, followed by the sound of latches and pins.

Thomas slowly picked himself off the floor and limped back to the cot. He tried to wipe away his tears, but it proved impossible with the steel mittens in the way. Instead of evaporating, they froze to his eyelashes, covering them in white frost. He pushed himself against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest.

Alone with his thoughts, he waited.

* * *

Hans’s worn boots paced a line across his tiny cell, his footsteps echoing a constant rhythm off the stone walls. He had been in this dungeon room for approximately ten hours. He wondered how much longer it would take for Mathias to decide he was not worth keeping alive, after all.

_ How did Prince Thomas find out? It was Everett. It had to have been. I never should have sent him. The rifles and letters would have been enough. _

The sight of the blizzard-cyclone expanding outward from the bay heralding the arrival of the Snow Queen’s son flashed in his memory. The distant screams of soldiers as they were eviscerated in the streets by the Ice Prince echoed in his mind.

One way or another, he was certainly done being Mathias’s Spymaster.

Of course, he wasn’t going to just sit still and wait for death to come. Even stripped of his titles, he still had men loyal to him—some of whom who were amongst the ranks of the King’s own servants. He would not be in this cell for long. In fact, he had just heard the guards change rotation. Perhaps this time… 

The jangling of keys behind the iron-framed door broke him from his thoughts.

“Five minutes, Your Highness. No more,” came a man’s voice, muffled through the wood.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!”

The door swung open with a creak to admit a familiar woman clad in a simple green dress. Hans’s eyes narrowed.

“Iona, what are you doing down here?”

“Oh, Uncle Hans, I’m so glad to see that you!” the Crown Princess exclaimed loudly. She snuck a glance over her shoulder as she pushed the door firmly shut. Hans blinked in confusion.

“Alright, Iona, what are you playing at?” he said in a quieter tone.

Iona’s eyes were instantly serious, her airheaded façade disappearing like she was shrugging off a coat.

“Hans, you and I both know my father is a fool for going through with this plan to manipulate the Snow Queen into attacking Weselton,” she whispered rapidly under her breath. “Every single one of us is lucky not to be frozen to death right now. And no,” the princess interrupted as Hans opened his mouth, “it’s not your fault for screwing up the mission. It’s Father’s fault for thinking the risk was ever worth it in the first place.”

Hans’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

“Why are you telling me all this?” he finally sputtered.

Iona rolled her eyes. “Come on Hans, you of all people should understand. My father is reckless, amoral, and greedy. He’s unfit to rule. All it would take is word of the assassination plot to reach the public ear and I could pressure him into abdicating.” There was a gleam in her green eyes that was suddenly all too familiar to Hans.

Having spent most of Iona’s childhood running operations in foreign territories, Hans had never been particularly close with the princess. As the Crown Princess, the girl had always had everyone wrapped around her little finger—including her own father, especially after the Queen had died of illness. Hans had always believed her to be a bit of a brat as she grew up. After Iona had matured into adulthood, he had shared the dinner table with her on occasion, but even then he never thought much more of her than a pretty face who would make a decent figurehead for the nation after Mathias’s passing.

He was beginning to realize his mistake.

“Again, why are you telling  _ me _ all this?” he asked cautiously.

“Because, dear Uncle, I need your help to save the Southern Isles.” A wry smile touched the princess’s lips. “The Crown Prince of Arendelle is already here. I saw the report you gave my father. Queen Elsa survived the attack. The Snow Queen will come. Once again, my father is being a fool. Since killing her husband didn’t work, he thinks he can somehow pressure Queen Elsa into doing his bidding by using her son as leverage. The much more likely outcome is that she will simply use her powers to free her son herself before destroying the Southern Isles in her anger, and that’s  _ without _ taking into account her son’s own powers.”

Hans raised an eyebrow.  _ She makes a good point _ — _ the same points as I would have made to Mathias if he hadn’t decided to execute me,  _ he thought sourly.

“And what’s your plan to stop this?”

His niece leaned in closer. “I deliver Prince Thomas to his mother myself when she arrives. Tell her the truth about what’s happened. Gain the support of the single most powerful individual in the northern hemisphere in forcing my father to abdicate, while getting the Southern Isles back in the Snow Queen’s good books in the same swoop.” Iona’s smile had turned into a grin. “My father will be revealed for the monster he is, while I-”

“... will be the hero who saves the Southern Isles from destruction,” Hans murmured.

The princess laughed. “I knew you would get me.”

“And you need my help to break the prince out.” Hans felt a smile creep across his own lips.

Iona nodded. “I know you have people among the guards, Uncle. And I’m sure you want your brother off the throne more than most.”

Hans chuckled mirthlessly. “Father or not, Mathias will have you hanged for treason if he finds out about this. Are you sure you want to risk that?”

“I’ll worry about my father. You worry about getting that prince out of this castle, and freeing yourself while you’re at it,” his niece replied with a wink.

Knuckles rapped on the other side of the door.

_ “Time’s up, Your Highness.” _

“Oh, goodness, already?” In the blink of an eye, the wide-eyed façade had returned. “Goodbye, Uncle Hans!” Iona called as the door opened. The hem of her dress fluttered around the corner as the door closed swiftly behind her.

Hans stood like a statue in the centre of the cell, brow furrowed as he ran the conversation with his niece over and over again in his mind. Could it be a trick by Mathias, trying to goad him into condemning himself further? But no, it did not make sense for his eldest brother to even spend the effort when he could already have Hans executed with a word. Besides, by the way Mathias pampered his darling daughter, it would be unthinkable for the King to willingly involve her with the disgraced Spymaster-former.

No, the princess had been serious. Despite himself, Hans let out a quiet bark of laughter.

_ Alright, Iona. You want to try your hand at my game? Let’s play. _

He made the short three strides to the cell door, knocking to get the guard’s attention. The slot of a window slid open to reveal a set of narrowed eyes.

“Dreadful weather we’re having,” Hans said offhandedly.

“It never rains over the ocean,” the guard replied in the same tone. Hans smiled slyly.

“Albricht, I thought I recognized your voice. Listen, I have a message for you to pass to Prince Thomas when you get the chance…”

* * *

The hours passed at an agonizing pace in the confines of the dungeon. In the time since the visit from Captain Roderick, the only other person who had entered Thomas’s cell was a flustered-looking physician who had silently fed him a bowl of thick, tasteless broth before changing his bandages with such gingerness that the prince was convinced the man thought his hands would freeze solid if he so much as touched Thomas’s skin for too long. The sight of the scabbing but still-glistening ooze beneath the stained cloth had almost made Thomas throw up on the spot.

Sitting alone in the gloom, Thomas examined the shackles covering his hands more out of curiosity than hope. It would do more harm than good if he broke out now; he was in no physical state to face down more soldiers, even if he could bring himself to use his powers to defend himself after the atrocities he had committed. The guards would undoubtedly restrain him further if they found out he was capable of escaping his current bindings. Nonetheless, he willed the metal to cool until it started to turn blue, absently playing with the idea of shattering the restraints with a decisive blast of ice, if only to stretch his cramped hands.

Eventually, he drifted off into a fitful slumber from sheer boredom. His half-lucid dreams were filled with blades and gunpowder smoke.

The sound of the many locks on the cell door being undone one by one jolted him back awake. Blinking to clear his vision, he sat up as the door creaked open.

“Be careful in there,” he heard the warden mutter.

A guard, dressed in a simpler uniform than the ones that had accompanied the King, walked in with a metal tray of food in his hands. Thomas’s stomach immediately began grumbling at the sight. He suddenly realized how hungry he was. Then he saw the handle of a spoon protruding off the edge of the plate. An incredulous laugh burst from his lips.

“How do you expect me to eat that?” he exclaimed, waving his shackled hands in the air as the guard drew nearer. He could see the food in the tray more clearly now: it seemed to be some kind of chunky sauce-and-rice mixture. Wordlessly, the guard crouched down in front of the prince and dug the spoon into the pile, holding it out toward Thomas’s mouth. Thomas raised an eyebrow indignantly.

“Seriously?”

The guard silently held the laden spoon in front of the prince’s face. Thomas’s stomach grumbled again. Begrudgingly, he leaned forward and accepted the bite. The sauce was bland and tasted vaguely of potatoes and beef, but to his deprived taste buds it was the definition of heaven. Without thinking, he leaned forward again for another bite. Soon, the guard had hand-fed him the entire contents of the tray. He pulled back and licked at the sauce staining the edges of his mouth, looking down in embarrassment.

It was then that he noticed the piece of paper sitting at the bottom of the tray. Neat black letters stared up at him, soggy and covered in bits of rice.

_ Mathias killed Henrik _

_ He wants to use you _

_ Escape chance soon _

Thomas glanced up at the guard in shock. The man expressionlessly reached into the tray and stuck the paper in his mouth, swallowing it without a trace before standing and walking out of the room, empty tray in hand. The door pulled shut behind him.

Thomas’s breathing quickened. Confusion and anger ran circles in his mind as he tried desperately to separate facts from falsehoods.

_ King Mathias killed my father? Is this another of Hans’s tricks? _

Abruptly, he heard the sound of locks opening again. He barely had the chance to collect his thoughts before the door opened. In strode the King in question, accompanied by another two of his personal guards. Thomas struggled to keep his expression carefully neutral as King Mathias walked up to his cot.

“Prince Thomas, my sincere apologies for the delay. Have my men done their duty in keeping you fed and your wounds tended to?”

The King’s gentle voice had Thomas gritting his teeth.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I just don’t understand. You stand here pretending to care for my well-being, and yet you keep me locked in your dungeons bound so tight I can’t even eat with my own hands! What do you want from me?” His voice rose in frustration.

The King regarded him with an air of pity.

“Thomas, I want to let you go, I really do. But the fact of the matter remains. You sank one of my ships, then killed fourteen of my men and plunged the entire mainland into a blizzard. There are those among my advisors who want your head, do you understand? I can’t just set you free without first convincing the public that you’re not the monster they think you are.”

The prince couldn’t help but wince at the monarch’s words.

“However, there is something that you can do to help me with that difficult task, Prince Thomas,” King Mathias continued softly. Thomas glanced back up in bemusement. The King crouched down so his dark eyes were level with the prince’s.

“More information has surfaced about Hans’s plot against your father. Based on the origin of the weapons that Hans was stockpiling, it seems that he had help from the Duke of Weselton.” King Mathias paused to let the words sink before continuing. “Now, the Duke has slighted both the Southern Isles and Arendelle in the past. Frankly, this latest act is the last straw for me. It is clear that the current sitting duke is morally corrupt and unfit to rule. Unfortunately, he has a strong history of support among his people. Thus, it is with a heavy heart that I have made the decision to declare war on Weselton to remove the Duke from power by force.” The King held Thomas’s gaze, an expectant gleam in his eyes. “To keep the loss of life in this conflict to a minimum, I would request your aid to help me end this war quickly. You will be given a set of private quarters and free to the castle until the royal fleet’s departure. Your aid will certainly win you the full support of my advisors, and you will be free to return to Arendelle after the fighting is done.”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed as the pieces finally clicked into place. He stared back at the King in silence for a few breaths. Then he spoke.

“So the Duke of Weselton helped kill my father. It will bring me pleasure to remove him from power,” he stated coldly. “I accept your offer, Your Majesty.”

King Mathias’s face broke out in a wide grin. “I knew you would. Warden!” he called over his shoulder. “Fetch the keys to Prince Thomas’s shackles. He won’t be needing them any longer.”

The warden walked into the cell, carrying a large ring of jangling keys. The aged man shuffled over to the King, handing him the ring.

“Your Majesty, are you sure this is wise?” the warden asked in a low voice, glancing uneasily at the steel mittens that encased the prince’s hands.

“You misunderstand, warden,” King Mathias intoned as he sifted through the keys. “Prince Thomas and I have a common enemy. That makes us natural allies.”

Finding the right one, he inserted it into the keyhole on the side of the manacles. With the popping of interlocked pins, the mitten cracked open. Thomas retrieved his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers in an attempt to alleviate the stiffness from their long confinement. The King moved on to the second shackle.

“Thomas, I say this more to put the warden at ease than anything else, but please do keep in mind I still have your men in my custody.” The monarch’s voice was quiet. Deadly. The second mitten popped open. “Just don’t do anything rash or stupid like running away or turning my guards into ice statues and they will be well taken care of, you have my word.”

The King’s smile was suddenly laced with poison. Thomas nodded, swallowing.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he replied. “I understand.”

King Mathias clapped his hands twice.

“Excellent! Come now, let me show you to a room more befitting a prince.”

The King rose and strode toward the exit, beckoning Thomas to follow. Noticing his injured leg, the King motioned for one of his guards to support the prince. The man did so with extreme reluctance, shrinking from Thomas’s arm as it wrapped around his shoulders as if it were a live viper.

The dungeon hall was not much more impressive than the inside of the cell. The walls and floor were made of a dull tan sandstone, the burning torches ensconced around them casting long, wavering shadows of their silhouettes as they made their way past more cells. It quickly became obvious that Thomas’s cell had been the most robustly-built by far; the majority of the other cells had wooden doors with a single padlock securing the cross-bar. The rest of the dungeon wing seemed quiet and empty.

_ Where are they keeping Roderick and the others? _

The entourage made their way up a long flight of stairs. Thomas did his best to ignore the flaring pain in his punctured thigh as his guard dragged him up the steps. Passing another set of guarded doors, they entered into the castle halls. Decorative pillars framed the high arch of the ceiling, which was decorated with paintings of summer landscapes. The floors were paved with slabs of marble etched with ornate circular patterns and polished to a mirror sheen. Thomas estimated it was around noon from the bright sunlight filtering in through the tall windows. He took in his surroundings, trying to commit as much as he could to memory.

It wasn’t long before the King stopped at one of the many dark wooden doors nestled between the pillars. He turned the gold-plated handle, revealing a spacious room with a walk-in closet, a large, lacquered desk, and a double bed covered neatly in fine red silken sheets. The monarch turned to Thomas with a smile.

“These will be your quarters. I’m sure they can’t compare with your accommodations back home, but hopefully they are to your liking. I will have one of my personal guard stationed at the door at all times, so feel free to make requests for food or other hospitality services through him. Anything you need! We should be ready to set sail tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Thomas replied with a careful nod.

He unwrapped his arm from the guard supporting him, gingerly testing his weight on his bad leg before he hobbled inside. He saw King Mathias motion for the same guard to take up station by the doorway before the door was closed with a quiet click. The King’s footsteps receded down the hall.

Thomas collapsed on top of the bedsheets, struggling to steady his breathing.

_ Mathias killed Henrik. He is trying to use you. _

It all made sense now. The King of the Southern Isles was trying to coerce him into using his powers to defeat Weselton.

There was not even a  _ shred _ of a chance that he would use his powers to help win a war for the Southern Isles. Thomas clenched his jaw. The terrifying thing was the Thomas of last week might very well have been easily convinced to plunge Weselton into an eternal winter out of his thirst for vengeance. Now, however, the very thought was so appalling that he was surprised the King hadn’t seen right through his ruse.

And that was without the message claiming that King Mathias had been responsible for the attack all along. There was not a doubt in his mind that the King would immediately have Norman, Roderick, and all the others executed in an instant if Thomas dared disobey him now. He had to find a way to get his friends out of the King’s clutches.

But he couldn’t do anything about it right now. He was still injured, to the point where basic movement was difficult. Even if he weren’t, there was a guard watching the door to the room around the clock, and of course the room had no windows.

_ The architect who designed this place should have been fired, _ Thomas thought bitterly.

He pushed himself to the edge of the bed with a sigh, looking down at his hands. He willed a few sparks of magic into existence in his palms, the pale blue light reflected in his eyes as he watched them dance.

Though his hands were no longer literally bound, he realized he had not bought himself any more freedom with his ploy. He growled quietly in frustration.

_ Escape chance soon. Whoever you are, it had better be soon enough. _


	18. Men of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “The Lion of Weselton”  
> [Christophe Beck – “Summit Siege” ( _Frozen_ OST)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cm62raVagEE)

_ She looks over the mountain of documents strewn across her desk with tired eyes. She prides herself on being organized, but the day had gotten the better of her in the end. She begins sifting through the stacks of paper with quick fingers. Trade agreements. Financial ledgers. Diplomatic invitations. It all starts blurring together. _

_ She feels a gentle hand on her shoulder. _

_ “Long day, love?” _

_ She leans into Henrik’s chest, letting out a long sigh as she closes her eyes. She focuses on the soothing sound of his heartbeat. He unpins her hair from the coronet she’s done it up in, stroking the braid as he unravels it over her shoulder. _

_ “Come to bed, Elsa. The world will still be here tomorrow.” _

_ She smiles at the teasing note in Henrik’s voice. She lets him pull her up from the chair by her hand. He’s looking at her with those soft grey eyes like she’s the most precious thing in the world, and her frustrations melt away like ice in a furnace. _

_ “You always know what to say,” she murmurs. She closes her eyes as she leans in for a kiss. _

_ She feels a cold wind on her face. Confused, her eyes snap open. _

_ She’s not in her study anymore. She’s in the hallway above the courtyard. She looks over Henrik’s shoulder, and dread pits in her stomach. Three men dressed in heavy winter jackets are approaching from ahead, their faces concealed by fur caps and scarves. Her dread turns into panic. _

_ Henrik shrugs himself from her embrace and moves in front of her, his shoulders tensed.  _

_ “No!” she screams. “I can’t lose you-”  _ again, _ but the word gets caught in her throat. She pushes past him and runs toward the assassins, throwing up a determined hand in their direction. Her powers respond instantly. The men are impaled on spikes of ice before they can even draw their own weapons. She lowers her arm. Slowly, she turns around. _

_ Henrik is looking at her with an expression of horror. _

_ “You… you killed them,” he whispers. His eyes harden in sharp accusation. “You said you would never use your powers to hurt anyone!” _

_ “Henrik, no, please,” she pleads, tears blurring her vision. “They were going to kill you! I’m just trying to protect you!” _

_ But Henrik is already running in the opposite direction down the hallway. _

_ “Henrik, wait!” _

_ She’s running too, tears of desperation flowing freely down her cheeks. Her husband reaches the end of the hallway and pushes through the door. It closes behind him with a slam. She reaches the door and tries to turn the handle. It is locked. _

_ With a cry of frustration and pain, she pushes as hard as she can. The doors fly off their hinges, crumpling under an onslaught of ice and wind. _

_ Henrik isn’t there. As she walks through the doorway, she smells a sea breeze. Abruptly, the floor is no longer the maroon carpet of the castle hall, but the polished wooden planks of a ship. She whirls around. The doors are gone. In their place is a figure, kneeling on the deck with his head bowed. _

_ As she walks closer, she sees a familiar mop of platinum-blonde hair. _

_ “Thomas?” she calls out hesitantly. “Thomas, what is this place?” Her son doesn’t seem to notice her. _

_ There is a pressure building in her head. Suddenly, boots are sounding all around her. She finds the silver barrel of a rifle hovering moments from her face as black-clad soldiers step into her peripheral vision. Somehow she’s on the floor now, kneeling beside Thomas as the men close in. _

_ “Fire!” _

_ A gunshot rings out behind her. The pressure is too much. Everything flashes blinding white. _

* * *

Elsa awoke to pain. The spot below her chest where the bullet had struck her pulsed with burning white agony. She clutched at the scarred tissue with her hand, arching her back and gasping as another wave of heat seared through her flesh.

Slowly, the sensation dulled. The ringing in her ears faded away to be replaced by the sound of her sister’s slumbering breaths from the bed beside her. Deep groans resonated through the walls of the cabin as the ship listed gently on the waves beneath them. Pale moonlight streamed dimly from the portside window.

She took a shuddering breath. As hard as she tried, she could not quell the panic from her dream. It had felt real, so terrifyingly real.

They would arrive at the Southern Isles in a couple of days. Admiral Felix had advised entirely against her presence on the journey multiple times, but she had held firm. They were not sailing to war, but deep down she knew they would need every advantage they could get.

Even if that meant using her powers. She clenched her teeth.

She couldn’t lose Thomas, too.

The nightmares with Henrik plagued her sleep constantly, but this was the first time she had dreamed about her son since she woke up in the trolls’ meadow. She remembered the vision of Thomas in the blizzard clearer than any other dream of her life. She went over the vision of Thomas kneeled on the deck of the ship again in her mind. The memory of Pabbie’s words echoed hauntingly.

_ You drank deeply from the source itself. I can only imagine what it showed you. _

Visions. Premonitions. That’s what they were.

_ What’s happening to me? _

The panic in her chest boiled over. Her tears flowed in rivulets into the pillowcase, spreading delicate whorls of frost where they landed on the surface of the fabric.

_ The future is not set in stone. The future is not set in stone.  _ She clung to the pillow as she repeated the words to herself like a mantra.

She could not lose Thomas.

She would not lose Thomas.

* * *

Admiral Joseph walked along the edge of the dock as he surveyed the shining hull of the frigate towering before him. His heels resounded off the hollow boards beneath his feet. Melting masses of slush dripped into the water in torrents as shiphands worked to clear the deck far above. Joseph moved to the gangplank, cradling his right arm in its sling under his dark green overcoat as he carefully ascended the steps. Purple-clad soldiers and white-clad sailors saluted smartly as he stepped on board. With his good arm, he shielded his eyes from the orange rays of the setting sun, watching as its last sliver sank below the horizon.

When the  _ Scimitar White  _ capsized, he had been thrown into the rear mast and got his arm caught in the rigging. The pain had almost made him lose consciousness, but it had stopped him from falling off the ship. Some of the other sailors hadn’t been so lucky; many were pitched into the frigid waters of the bay. The rescue operation had not been an easy one, and in the end five men succumbed to hypothermia. After he was brought back to the castle, the Admiral had two nights’ respite as the medical staff had tended to his fractured arm, but it was not to last. Earlier in the afternoon, the King had ordered him back to the docks to oversee preparations for the royal fleet to set sail in full force. Mathias hadn’t said the words explicitly, but there was only one possible reason for readying the fleet in such scale: they were going to launch an attack on Weselton.

Joseph grimaced. There was no other explanation—the sudden change of plans was due to the King’s custody of the prince of Arendelle.

As Joseph thought about it, he realized he had never truly believed in magic before the events of that fateful afternoon two nights prior. He had heard of the abilities of the Snow Queen of Arendelle, of course, but a small part of him simply could not accept that someone could have supernatural abilities of that magnitude.

That was before her son had flipped the  _ Scimitar  _ with nothing more than a wave of his hand. The snow from the blizzard that the prince had cursed upon the mainland still covered the streets and roofs of the capital city in a blanket of eerie white. Joseph shuddered at the memory of the unnatural clouds spreading to blot out the sky.

_ You think you can control  _ that _ , Mathias? After you had the boy’s father killed? _

“Admiral!”

Joseph turned to find the captain of the frigate standing stiffy at attention at the bottom of the quarterdeck stairs.

“Good afternoon, Captain Emil,” the Admiral greeted. “What’s the status report on the  _ Silver Merlin? _ ”

“Fully operational, sir. My men are almost finished trimming her up. Once we load her with supplies and ammunition, she’ll be ready to sail.”

“The King has ordered we sail tomorrow morning. Are you on schedule?”

“Aye, sir,” the captain replied confidently.

Joseph nodded in satisfaction. He stepped back down the gangplank and moved along the docks to the next vessel.

The Southern Isles fleet was made up of an extensive array of warships. Several of the smaller vessels were currently actively stationed elsewhere around the archipelago to fend off raiders and pirates, but all the largest ships were currently in port at the Imperial Navy docks, including four frigates and two Man-of-War gunships.

_ Surprising it even took this long for Mathias to declare war, _ the Admiral thought sourly as he walked toward the first of the enormous Man-of-Wars.  _ It’s unlike him to show so much restraint with all these toys lying around. _

Cranes pulled cannons and crates of supplies up from the dock below with the sound of groaning winches and ropes. Joseph climbed to the stop of the gangplank, pausing for a moment to look around the bay from the high vantage. The Imperial fleet lay spread out around him in the shallow water of the docks. The sky had faded from a dusky red to the dark purple of twilight. This time the busy deckhands paid him little heed, swarming around him in flurries of motion as they rushed to move everything below decks. Spotting the figure of the captain near the tiller, Joseph ascended the stairs up to the helm.

“Captain Frank!” he called as he drew nearer to the man.

“Oh, Admiral Joseph!” The captain turned, looking startled. “I’m sorry we’re behind schedule, sir. It’s taking longer than expected to get all the cannons to the gun decks.”

Joseph raised his good hand placatingly.

“No harm done, Captain. I’m sure with a little extra effort we can get her ready to sail by dawn.”

Frank nodded, licking his lips nervously.

“Sir… is this it?” The man’s throat bobbed. “Are we really going to war?”

Joseph let out a small sigh. He felt sympathy for the captain. Generations of peace was at an end, and he was to lead the charge.

“Chin up, soldier. You’ve trained your whole life for this,” he replied softly. He tried to fix Frank with a confident look, but found the captain’s own gaze fixated on something over his shoulder. “Frank, are you listening to me?”

“Admiral,” the captain began in a hesitant voice, pointing beyond the Admiral. “Is that one of ours?”

Joseph turned, following the captain’s finger with his eyes. What he saw froze his blood in his veins.

Silhouettes of tall masts pierced the arc of the horizon. The dark waters of the bay parted before the keels of two massive ships as they made straight for the Imperial docks with terrible speed, their wide hulls bristling with no less than five rows of cannons baring their muzzles from open gunports. Even in the dim, moonless night, Joseph could make out the black lions emblazoned upon the billowing sheets of their enormous sails.

_ The lion of Weselton. _

Murmurs rose from the silence of the docks. Shouts erupted as more and more men noticed the approaching ships. The Admiral gripped the captain tightly by the shoulder.

“We need to get everyone-”

Joseph’s next words were drowned out as cannon fire split the still air.

* * *

Thomas was growing restless. In the hours since the King had relocated him from the dungeon cell, he’d scoured every corner of the bedroom to no avail in the hopes of finding some other clue from his mysterious ally. The drawers in the desk were completely empty except for a dry fountain pen and a blank pad of paper, and the bookshelves didn’t even have books in them.

He had only been allowed to leave the room twice. The first was a short trip down the hall to the bathroom, where he’d undressed and wiped himself as clean as he could of the grime of the dungeon with a wet towel, having to take extreme care not to disrupt his wounds and all while under the constant scrutiny of that same guard assigned to him by the King. Upon his return to the bedroom, he had discovered that all of the shirts in the wardrobe were too large for him and none of the pants would stay on his hips. This eventually lead to his second escapade: he was lead down the hall in the opposite direction to a larger wardrobe room by a quiet serving girl, where he exchanged his tattered clothes for a freshly-laundered grey button-up shirt and burgundy dress pants. He decided to keep his own boots.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be the extent of the decision-making that King Mathias was going to allow him. Despite Thomas’s pleading, the guard stationed at his door refused to give him a tour of the castle or even let him explore on his own under supervision. Though dinner was served on a silver platter, nobody inquired about his preferences, and it was still a guard who delivered it, not a servant. The King’s message was clear: Thomas was a prisoner, not a guest.

After a couple of hours spent fruitlessly plotting his escape, the prince resigned himself to waiting. To give himself something to do, he conjured a simple chess board and pieces out of ice and began playing against himself.

Chess had been his father’s game. He remembered all the nights he had spent in his parents’ study, sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace with the board between them. He could see his father’s hands on the pieces, hear his gentle voice teaching him his favourite tactics and strategies.

He finished a game and began setting up another. As he played, he tried to remember how his father liked to play. He tried to pretend he was playing against his father. He tried to pretend his father was still alive. It wasn’t long before the tears came.

_ One day, you will beat me, and then I will know you’re ready to be King, _ his father once told him jokingly. Thomas laughed bitterly at the memory as sobs wracked his frame. Snow began to fall around him, but he barely noticed.

_ What now, Father? When will I be ready now? _

He did not know how long he spent staring at the pieces on the board. He couldn’t bring himself to make another move.

Unbidden, the image of his mother lying on the infirmary bed rose in his mind’s eye. He could see the dark crimson of the blood seeping inexorably through her bandages.

_ Mother may already be dead…  _

He screwed his eyes shut as the snow fell harder. His mother couldn’t be dead, too. It was unthinkable, impossible. As his cousins had grown into adults and his aunt’s hair had greyed, his mother had always stayed the same. He had thought little of it as a child, but as he got older, he realized it must be the magic. The ice preserved her, protected her from even the ravages of time itself. It would continue to protect her. It had to.

His mother couldn’t be dead.

There came a commotion from outside the door. Thomas heard raised voices and the sounds of booted feet pounding on the marble floor of the hallway. He hastily dissipated the chess pieces and traces of snow around the room, wiping his eyes as he rose and limped toward the noises. There was someone speaking just beyond the door. A woman, by the sound of the voice. He pressed his ear against the cold wood.

“... check that the gate is locked? I heard explosions and screaming!”

“Your Highness, please,” the guard answered in an exasperated voice. “I can’t leave my station! King Mathias ordered me to watch the Arendelle prince until the morning. Go find someone else.”

“All the other guards are gone, sir! They all went into the city… Oh no, what if this is their plan? What if the attackers are here for  _ me?” _

“Don’t be ridi-” The guard sighed. “Fine,  _ fine _ . If it eases your mind, Your Highness, I’ll check that the north entrance is locked. But that’ll be the end of this, you hear?”

“Oh, thank you,  _ thank you!  _ I’ll make sure my father knows you helped me.”

The guard’s quick footsteps receded down the hallway. For several seconds there was only silence. Then, the doorknob jiggled.

“Drat,” he heard the woman curse under her breath. Knuckles rapped softly on the other side of the door. “Prince Thomas. Prince Thomas! Are you in there?”

“I’m here,” he answered haltingly. “Who is this?”

“My name is Iona and I’m here to help you escape,” the woman answered urgently. “You have to get this door open. Quickly, the guard won’t be gone for long!”

“You were the one who left the note!” Thomas exclaimed.

“Just hurry up!” Iona replied with a hint of panic.

“Alright, stand back,” Thomas warned.

He held his right hand out in front of him and reached for the ice. With a flurry of blue sparks, a clear blue morningstar crystalized in the air between his fingers. He gave it a quick practice swing before raising it above his head and smashing it down on the doorknob with all his might. Metal crumpled and wood splintered as the locking mechanism came apart under the weapon’s momentum. He winced at the jarring pain from the would in his left shoulder from the impact.

The door creaked open to reveal a young woman dressed in an elegant black evening dress with a high-necked bodice and long skirt. Her delicate features wore an expression of astonishment as her striking green eyes beheld the spiked weapon clutched in Thomas’s grip. Thomas tried to mask his own surprise as he willed the morningstar to dissipate in a spray of mist. He didn’t know whom he expected his mysterious benefactor to be, but it certainly wasn’t the beautiful lady standing before him now. From how the guard had addressed her, she must be a princess. He coughed self-consciously.

“If you’re breaking me out, you know about my powers?” He meant it as a statement, but it came out like a question.

“Yes, but seeing them for myself is something else,” Iona breathed. She blinked twice before taking her eyes off Thomas’s hands to fix him with a determined gaze. “Come with me.” She turned and began walking briskly down the dimly-lit hallway. Thomas could see slivers of the night sky through the tall windows above.

“Wait, what about my men?” he called after her in a hushed whisper. “I won’t leave them locked in the dungeons!”

Iona halted in her steps. “I’m sorry, but breaking them out is too risky.”

“No.” Thomas shook his head vehemently. “I’m not leaving my men to be executed!”

“I don’t even know where they’re being held,” Iona whispered back imploringly. “Please, we have to go  _ now _ .”

“I know where they are,” a man’s soft voice stated from behind him. Thomas whirled to see a figure detach himself from the shadows behind a pillar. Brown hair and sideburns sprinkled with hints of grey framed green eyes and a weathered but undeniably handsome face wearing an unreadable expression. The man’s hands were covered by black leather gloves, the tails of a dark grey overcoat draping behind him.

“Who are you?” Thomas asked warily.

“The one who sent you the note,” the man replied simply. He turned to Iona. “The prince is right. We can’t afford to leave Mathias leverage.” Noticing Thomas’s limping gait, he grimaced. “I’ll get them out myself. Meet me at the east dungeon entrance. If I’m not there in fifteen minutes, leave via the south gate and we’ll reconvene outside.”

The man reached into the folds of his coat and retrieved a long object wrapped in dark cloth. “I believe this belongs to you, Prince Thomas.”

He threw the bundle through the air and Thomas stumbled as he caught it. It was heavy and cold. Thomas unwrapped the cloth slowly, revealing a blade of glimmering blue crystal. With a sharp intake of breath, he realized it was Sir Gingivere’s sword. He looked up in shock, but the man was already gone.

“Come on,” Iona urged. She ran back and pulled Thomas’s arm over her narrow shoulders. With surprising strength, she began all but dragging him down the hallway. The castle was eerily quiet, and Thomas cringed at each echoing strike of his heels on the marble flooring. Maybe keeping the boots wasn’t such a great idea, after all.

“Why are you helping me?” he eventually whispered.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Iona whispered back. Thomas frowned in confusion.

_ Does she know about the people I killed? _

He clamped his mouth shut before he said anything regrettable. Whatever this princess’s motives may be, he wasn’t going to ruin his only chance at escaping the King.

They turned another corner. Two wide-eyed servant boys scurried into the shadows as Iona shooed them away.

“Where are all the guards?” Thomas asked cautiously.

“They’ve been relocated to the city,” Iona replied in hushed tones. “I heard something about an attack on the harbour.”

The prince’s eyes widened. “Is it Arendelle?”

“I… I don’t know,” the princess admitted.

Suddenly, he felt her shoulders tense under his grip. He looked forward to see a guard making toward them from the opposite end of the hallway. The man lifted the lip of his beret and squinted at them.

“Princess Iona, what are you doing out here? You should be…” The guard’s eyes flashed as he recognized the person leaning on the princess’s shoulder. His hand went for the rapier at his belt.

“Thomas, do something!” Iona hissed.

“What! What am I supposed to do?” Thomas replied nervously. The guard was advancing toward them now with his rapier drawn.

“Your Highness, drop the prince of Arendelle at once!”

“Use your powers, damn it!” Iona’s voice rose in panic.

The image of soldiers impaled on spears of ice flashed before Thomas’s eyes. He shook his head, trying to steady his suddenly rapid breathing. He lowered his gaze and concentrated on the approaching guard’s feet instead. Tendrils of ice curled across the floor and leapt onto the guard’s boots in thick vines. The man cried out in surprise as he stumbled, finding himself suddenly stuck in place. Iona wriggled free from under Thomas in an instant, drawing the sword of ice from his hands in one swift motion and dashing toward the guard. With a wild cry, she swung the pommel at the man’s head. The guard crumpled to the floor unconscious, blood streaming from a cut above his eye. The princess walked back and returned the sword to Thomas’s dumbfounded hands.

“What is wrong with you?” she growled as she roughly yanked the prince’s arm back over her shoulder. “You flipped a whole ship and you can’t deal with one guard?”

“I…” Thomas couldn’t find the words. He let out an incredulous laugh. “I didn’t think you would be so eager to knock out your own men!”

“I’m not,” Iona huffed, wiping her right hand on his shirt. “I hate blood.” Thomas couldn’t think of a reply to that. His feet could barely keep up with the princess’s swift pace as she began moving with even greater urgency.

They came to another intersection of hallways.

“The dungeon entrance is this way,” Iona whispered as she dragged him toward the left.

Thomas thought about the mysterious man with the sideburns. “Who was that other man? Why is he helping us?” he asked with suspicion.

“Oh, him.” Iona was quiet for a moment. “The King was going to execute him. I saved his life. He owes me a favour.”

“And who are you really,  _ Princess _ Iona?” Thomas’s eyebrows narrowed.

“Observant, aren’t you?” Iona replied softly. “Just someone who thinks King Mathias is a very bad man. Now shut up, there might be more guards here.”

They stopped at the next corner as the princess caught her breath. Thomas heard hard breathing and sounds of struggle from the hallway ahead. Peeking around the corner, he saw that the dungeon entrance was open. Two guards lay on the ground at the feet of the man with the sideburns. He was accompanied by another man dressed in a guard’s uniform. With a start, Thomas recognized him as the same guard who had served him the meal with the hidden note. Behind them, familiar faces emerged from the shadows of the doorway. Thomas let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the other Arendellians, though clad in threadbare prison rags, seemed none the worse for wear from their imprisonment save for the dirt and grime on their faces and clothes.

Iona walked out into the open, dragging Thomas along. She nodded to the sideburned man. “That was quick.”

“I’m a professional,” the man chuckled mirthlessly.

It was Roderick who spotted Thomas first. His posture relaxed visibly in relief even as his narrowed eyes flitted between the man and the princess.

“Thomas, who are these people?” he asked in a low voice.

“I’m not sure, but they’re helping us escape,” Thomas answered. 

Roderick sighed. “I suppose that will do for now.” He stepped toward Iona, gesturing to the prince hanging onto her shoulders. “I can take him from here.”

“Great, he was getting heavy,” the princess said wryly.

The sound of a bell tolling reverberated faintly through the walls.

“Our ruse is up, they’re sounding the alarm,” Iona muttered.

“This way to the back gate,” the sideburned man stated as he started down the hallway. The rest of the group followed close behind, the Arendellian guards forming a defensive perimeter around Roderick and Thomas.

They managed to exit into the south courtyard without further incident. Thankfully, the castle had clearly been designed to keep intruders out rather than prisoners in. As they moved across the paving stones toward the gatehouse, however, Thomas’s heart sank. The portcullis was closed. Flanking the twin pulley stations were two guards wielding long pikes. The alarm bell tolled on, its tones much louder in the open air. The men sank into combat stances and positioned themselves in front of the gateway as the group approached.

“Halt, who goes there?”

“It’s the sorcerer prince!”

This time, Thomas didn’t hesitate. A bolt of light flew from his outstretched hand, bathing the guards’ surprised faces in bright white as an arcing wall of ice shot up from the ground. Within seconds, the guards had been encased in a thick, translucent dome, leaving the portcullis pulleys undefended.

“Quickly, raise the gate!” Roderick commanded. Two of the Arendelle guards moved swiftly to the dangling chains. The portcullis rose with the clicking of heavy gears. The head of a pike struck the inside of the dome, bouncing harmlessly off the slick surface.

“What now?” Iona exclaimed. “You’ve locked us in!”

“Everyone get behind me,” Thomas ordered.

With a grunt of exertion, he splayed his fingers at the barrier in front of him. The dome shattered with a sound like a shower of crystal, leaving a jagged wall between him and the guards within. Before the men could react, Thomas blasted the wall with a stream of arctic wind. The floor beneath the gateway froze over with a sheen of ice and the barrier slid forward, pushing the guards back with it. Roderick supported Thomas as he hobbled after the barrier through the gateway, a miniature storm still streaming from his extended hand.

He tried to make the wall expand again after it passed outside, but the guards were too fast. As he emerged from the gateway, he realized too late that one of them had already skirted around the barrier. Thomas watched rooted to the spot as the guard charged at him, pike lowered with deadly intent.

But Roderick was faster.

Thomas found himself thrown roughly to the ground. The head of the pike blew over his head, ruffling his hair with its passing and missing Roderick’s abdomen by centimetres as the Captain of the Guard feinted deftly to the side. Roderick grabbed the weapon by its long handle and pulled. The guard’s own momentum carried him into the Captain’s kick with the crunch of a breaking nose. Roderick plucked the pike from the unconscious man’s grasp and stared down the second guard, brandishing the polearm menacingly. The guard’s determination wavered as he glanced at the rest of the escaping prisoners emerging from the gateway. Baring his teeth a final time at Roderick, the man turned and fled toward the city.

The Captain turned and tossed the pike to one of the other Arendellian guards before helping Thomas up from the ground.

“Sorry about that, Highness. Are you alright?” he asked gruffly.

Thomas bent to retrieve Sir Gingivere’s sword from where it had skittered across the road, tucking it back under his arm as he moved to lean on Roderick once more.

“I’m just glad you’re on our side,” he laughed weakly.

“We need to get out of sight of the castle,” Roderick commanded over his shoulder. “Move.”

The group moved in tense silence off the road in the direction opposite of the city below. Sneaking a glance toward the bay, Thomas could see plumes of black smoke rising from the distant harbour. The silhouette of the castle disappeared behind rolling hills as the sound of the alarm bell faded off. It was almost an hour before Roderick finally held up his hand to signal for a stop.

Thomas collapsed to the ground, his breath coming in tired gasps.

“What’s the plan now?” he asked, looking to Iona. With a start, he realized she had removed her skirt to reveal a set of brown canvas travel pants.

The princess shrugged. “We keep running. Taking to the sea would have been preferable, but with the harbour under attack that plan went out the window.” She turned to the man with the sideburns with questioning eyes.

The man nodded, his arms folded over his chest. “I have a few contacts in the neighboring towns.” His tone was almost nonchalant. “We can reach the nearest by sunrise if we keep going at this pace.”

Iona nodded rapidly in agreement. As the sideburned man moved past the Captain to take the lead, Roderick caught his arm in a stiff grip.

“Before you take us anywhere further, I would know who you are.” The words were sharp as knives.

The man turned back, a smile playing about his thin lips. “I am Hans, former Prince and Spymaster of the Southern Isles.”

Thomas stopped breathing.


	19. A Matter of Time

For the first time in forever, the Duke of Weselton was having a good day. He stood at the bow of his personal galleon, his long jacket fluttering in the early-morning breeze as he surveyed the scene before him with his hands clasped behind his back.

The Imperial docks of Athero lay in ruins. The sounds of burning wood and crumbling hulls carried across the water, black oil fires and acrid gunpowder smoke still emanating from the wretched half-submerged husks that remained of the Southern Isles fleet. A column of ash and smoke rose high into the air above the harbour, casting a dark shadow over the capital city in the light of the rising sun. The twin gunships  _ Stalwart  _ and  _ Indomitable  _ peeled off from their final pass of the coast, the lion of Weselton flying proudly from their sails as they moved to take defensive positions around the Duke’s own vessel.

_ King Mathias cannot hope to challenge our blockade now. _

The Duke allowed himself an indulgent smirk. He turned from the prow and strutted down the stairs to the deck, making his way to the stern of the ship. His steward waited by the door to his quarters.

“Gilbert!”

“Yes, Your Grace!” The portly man hastily drew himself up to his full, albeit unimpressive height.

“Do you have the announcement of terms ready?” the Duke asked.

“Right here, Your Grace.” The steward pulled a thick roll of parchment from the folds of his coat.

The Duke nodded in satisfaction.

“I’m sending you ashore with four soldiers to deliver that message to the King,” he stated, making a sweeping gesture toward the mainland. “Ready yourself for departure!”

Gilbert shivered nervously. “M-me, Your Grace?” he stammered. “Isn’t there anyone more… qualified?”

The Duke’s moustache twitched in annoyance. “Don’t be daft, Gilbert, you’re my steward! Making proclamations is half your job description!”

The man swallowed. “Will you send more men to rescue me if I’m captured?” he asked in a tiny voice.

“No, of course not!” the Duke scoffed. “And that’s exactly why you’re perfect for the task. Anyone with half a brain would realize that trying to use you for leverage is a complete waste of their time! You’re in no danger at all.”

The steward’s meek reply was cut off by the approach of a uniformed officer from the stairs to the deck above.

“Your Grace, the rowboat is ready for launch,” the man reported with a salute. “The men await your orders.”

“Excellent, set ashore at once.” The Duke’s voice shook with glee. “I only wish I could see the look on that bastard king’s face when he realizes I’ve got him trussed like a chicken!”

The officer bowed, moving to guide Gilbert by the small of his back. The steward gave one last piteous look to his sovereign before he was lead down the deck to join the black-clad soldiers at the rowboat winch. Watching as the small wooden vessel was lowered over the side of the hull, the Duke grinned.

_ Everything is going to plan. _

* * *

Admiral Joseph of the Southern Isles Imperial Navy was not having a good day. He walked through the halls of the royal castle flanked by two of the King’s personal guard, struggling to hold his straight posture as mental scenes of burning ships and screaming men blotted out his senses. His right arm still hung in its sling; with his left, he held a bag of crushed ice to a long gash across his cheek. His grey-blonde hair was darkened by ash, his once-pristine overcoat billowing in burnt tatters around his waist.

The Imperial docks were lost. The sailors had been so busy preparing to launch their own attack that when the gunships struck, they had no chance to react. The official casualty reports were still in progress and Joseph dreaded receiving them. He saw enough men blown to pieces by cannon fire and exploding ammunition caches with his own eyes. Never in his life had he felt so utterly helpless.

The guards stopped by a set of ornate double doors. One of them pulled open the left-hand door, gesturing inside.

“The King awaits your presence, Your Highness.”

He pushed past the guard without a word. His eldest brother sat facing away from him toward his massive desk, his head supported in his hands as he propped them up by his elbows. Papers lay strewn about the carpeted floor as if a cyclone had flown through the room, but the desktop itself was bare. At the sound of the door clicking shut, Mathias rose.

“How did this happen, Joseph?” The King’s words were slow, quiet. He hadn’t turned. Joseph remained silent.

_ “How did this happen!” _ Mathias screamed as he threw his chair aside with a crash, whirling to face his brother with his face twisted in a furious snarl. “How can it be that in  _ one night _ I lose both my entire Imperial navy and my most valuable asset!”

Joseph met his brother’s glare with steel of his own.

“We were overzealous,” he replied icily. “Unprepared. So damn preoccupied with  _ your _ plan to trounce Weselton that we didn’t even consider that they might have plans of their own!”

_ “Watch. Your. Tongue,” _ Mathias spat venomously.

“No, brother, I have held my tongue for long enough!” Joseph’s voice rose with his anger and frustration. “You are letting your  _ obsession _ with the Snow Queen lead the Southern Isles to ruin! Don’t you see? If you hadn’t ordered the assassination of the King of Arendelle, the sorcerer prince would never have come to the Southern Isles and the  _ Scimitar White  _ might have been there to defend against those gunships, instead of at the bottom of the sea! Hell, if you hadn’t ordered the fleet prepared in such haste yesterday, we might have had the men to fend off Weselton’s attack without her! But no. Instead, you were blinded by your own arrogance and lust for power, and now I’m an admiral without a navy up against the entirety of Weselton’s navy at our damn doorstep!”

It was only after his own breathing had calmed somewhat that Joseph realized he had gone too far. His brother’s face was a mask of pure rage, his eyes bugging out under a forehead pulsing with thick, raised veins. Joseph’s eyes widened as Mathias raised a fist above his head, his fingers clenched so tightly that his whole body shook with exertion. With a bellow that filled the study, the King slammed his fist down onto his desk, sending a single splintering crack through the dense hardwood. He stood there with his knuckles embedded in the counter for a long moment as his body heaved with rapid breaths.

“Under any other circumstances, I would have you flogged if not  _ executed _ for speaking to your sovereign in that manner,” Mathias finally growled. His bloodshot eyes rose to meet Joseph’s gaze. Suddenly, his shoulders sagged. “But this isn’t about me anymore, Joseph. My daughter has gone missing.”

“What?” Joseph’s brow furrowed in surprise.

Mathias straightened up again, absently nursing his bruised hand. All of a sudden, the King looked very tired, indeed.

“In the chaos following Weselton’s attack, both Hans and the Arendellian prisoners managed to escape the castle. The guards report that they were working together and… that my daughter was with them. Two men even claim that she was actively aiding Prince Thomas.”

“Are you saying that your own daughter is committing treason?” Joseph asked haltingly. His brother winced visibly under the weight of the words.

“We… must not dismiss the possibility.” Mathias’s eyes had turned downcast. He took a deep breath. “I need Princess Iona found, Admiral. This is the task I have summoned you for. Everything else can wait, we’ve lost too much time already. Luckily, they can’t have left the mainland with Weselton controlling the bay. Rally your men and search every town from here to the south coast. Turn the whole continent upside-down if you have to.” The King’s voice held none of the furious energy from before.

“At once, Your Majesty.” Joseph turned swiftly to leave. He was halfway to the door when Mathias spoke again.

“And brother, if you see that traitor Hans, kill him. I won’t make the mistake of mercy twice.” A hint of the rage had returned.

“Understood,” Joseph intoned. He stepped out of the royal study, carefully closing the door behind him. Frustration still burned like hot embers in his chest, but nonetheless he let out a small sigh of relief after the confrontation.

_ No rest for the wicked, _ he thought wearily as he started back down the hallway.

* * *

Curled up on a hard stone floor, Thomas stared at his distorted reflection shining back from the blade of Sir Gingivere’s sword. His gaze was met with his own weary eyes, his grey irises the colour of cold ash in the feeble light of the cellar. His hair draped limply over the right side of his face, stained with dirt and flecks of blood. The red lines of a dozen tiny cuts and scratches marred his brow and cheeks, and the blonde fuzz of several days’ worth of stubble peeked out from a jawline splotched with a nasty purple bruise.

They had trudged through sparse deciduous woods for the entire night. As Hans had promised, they reached the outskirts of a town by the name of Evan’s Bluff just as the sky began to lighten. It had been early enough that the streets were mostly empty, but the Arendellians had nonetheless erred on the side of caution and stayed in the trees while Hans snuck into town to find his “contact.” Just as Thomas was becoming convinced that the ex-prince had abandoned them, Hans had returned with a bundle of plainclothes for the Arendellian guards to replace their conspicuous prison clothes with. After disposing of the rags under a log, they had entered the town one by one with Hans’s instructions to find an establishment named the Twisted Vine.

The establishment in question was a winery on the north side of town surrounded by acres of grape fields, currently barren due to the season. The elderly owner had lead each of them downstairs to the storage cellar without so much as a word. Under other circumstances, Thomas would have thought twice before allowing himself to be led underground by a stranger, but by that point the fatigue from a full day spent awake had finally caught up with him. He collapsed to the floor in a daze the moment he reached the basement. Sleep had pulled him swiftly into its dark embrace.

He didn’t know how long it was before he came to. He awoke stiff and aching. The cellar was dark and damp, with sandstone walls covered with racks upon racks of wooden wine barrels. Roderick and two of the guards were laid out on the floor asleep, their jackets serving as makeshift pillows and blankets. The other two greeted the prince with nods from their positions near the stairway. Iona and Hans were nowhere to be seen.

It was then that the gravity of the situation hit Thomas anew. He had escaped King Mathias by the skin of his teeth thanks to the help of a Princess of the Southern Isles and… Hans. Hans, the man whom he had sailed across an entire ocean to bring to justice—no, to  _ kill _ —was the very same man who personally broke Captain Roderick and his men out of the dungeons and secured the group a place of refuge. He was the very same man who had personally retrieved Sir Gingivere’s sword and returned it.

And yet, Hans was the man who orchestrated the attack on his parents.

Thomas lowered the sword to the ground and held his head in his hands. A short three days ago, he knew exactly what he needed to do. Reach the Southern Isles. Avenge his father. Everything had been clear and simple. Now, everything was a jumbled mess of mistakes and mystery. Nothing made sense.

Thomas closed his eyes. His fingers found the hilt of the sword again. The familiar cold of the ice was calming.

_ I wish Mother were here. She would know what to do.  _ He felt tears well behind his eyelids. He never should have left Arendelle. He should have stayed and helped his mother.  _ For all I know, she could be dead because of me. _

_ Queen Elsa is not dead. _

Thomas sucked in a sharp breath, the sword clattering to the ground from his startled fingers. “Who said that?” he whispered, his eyes darting frantically around the room.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” asked Terese in a cautious voice. The guard moved to crouch down beside the prince, her hazel eyes tinged with worry.

“I’m alright, sorry.” Thomas managed a weak smile. “Just… remembered a bad dream.”

Terese looked at him for a moment before she nodded sadly. “You’ve been through so much these past several days, Your Highness. You have no need to apologize. We are here for you if you need us.”

“Thanks, Terese.” Thomas rubbed his arm awkwardly. He waited until the guard had returned to her spot by the stairs.

_ On top of everything else, I’m hearing voices now? Fantastic!  _ he mused sourly. Nonetheless, it only took a few moments before his curiosity won out.

_ Hello?  _ he tried to think as loudly as he could. He was answered only with deafening silence. He glanced back to the sword of ice laying on the floor.

_ This is ridiculous. _

Slowly, he moved to grasp the handle again. He closed his eyes

_ Hello? _

Something pushed at his awareness, the barest shadow of a wisp. Then a familiar voice sounded in his mind.

_ The sword has not melted. Your mother lives, Master Thomas. _

Thomas almost dropped the sword again. He gripped the hilt with renewed strength.

_ Sir Gingivere? _ he called hesitantly. _ Is that you? _

_ I am here. _

Thomas laughed out loud as fresh tears of relief streamed down his face. The laughter died on his lips, however, as the guilt of his actions returned in full force.

_ Sir Gingivere… I thought I killed you. I’m so sorry. _

_ I am the one who should apologize, Master Thomas.  _ The words echoed in his mind like the voice of a man at the bottom of a well.  _ I felt your conviction and anger on the beach back in Arendelle. After you destroyed that warship, I realized that it had turned into something worse, but by then it was much too late. _ There was a short pause as a sense of confusion flared in Thomas’s mind.  _ Where are we now, exactly? _

_ We’re in the cellar of a winery. _

_ Are you safe?  _ The voice sounded like it was coming from much farther away.

Thomas nodded, though he knew Sir Gingivere couldn’t see.  _ For now. They locked me up in the castle, but I escaped. _

_ Good.  _ The voice was barely intelligible now.

_ Sir Gingivere…  _ Hans _ was the one who helped break me out. What do I do? _

Something echoed faintly, but he couldn’t make out the words.

_ Sir Gingivere? _

Thomas waited for a long time, but the voice was gone. He exhaled and held the sword in front of him, examining the length of the translucent blade with new eyes. Sir Gingivere was right. The magic that kept the sword frozen was not his own.

_ Mother is alive. Mother is alive!  _ He repeated the words to himself, holding onto them like the truth would slip away if he dared let it go.

The sound of thin wooden boards creaking under someone’s weight broke him from his thoughts. He looked up to find Iona descending the stairs. She wore the same travel pants and boots from the previous night, but the top half of her evening dress had been replaced with a close-fitting green tunic underneath a dark brown peacoat that seemed a few sizes too large for her. The princess smiled sheepishly as she noticed Thomas’s gaze.

“Uncle Hans found me a change of clothes. He said it would make me harder to recognize if I get spotted.”

Thomas gritted his teeth. He couldn’t stand being in the dark any longer, and Iona’s cordial tone had struck a nerve.

“Iona, if Hans is your uncle, then who is your father?” he asked bluntly.

Iona looked at him with a thoughtful expression for a few breaths. She moved to sit beside him on the cellar floor.

“King Mathias is my father,” she said quietly, her eyes focused on the opposite wall. “You’re not the only heir to a throne in this basement.” She smiled dryly.

Thomas gaped. “You’re the crown princess?” A thousand questions whirled in his mind as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. “Why are you doing this?” he finally managed to articulate.

Iona fixed him with a hard stare. “I stand by what I said, Thomas. My father is a bad man. He ordered the death of  _ your _ father simply so he could frame Weselton and goad the Snow Queen into winning a war for him. When that plan failed and you came to his doorstep instead, he decided he would use you for the same purpose. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Thomas clenched his jaw. “I came to the Southern Isles because a captured assassin told me Hans was responsible for planning the attack on my parents,” he stated stiffly. “When I was in the dungeon, King Mathias told me Hans was acting on his own. Now  _ Hans _ is the one hiding us from the King’s men. It just doesn’t make any sense! I want to know the truth, Iona. All of it.”

“I don’t think I have the whole story either, but I will tell you what I know,” Iona began slowly. “First of all, if my father told you he had nothing to do with the attack, he was lying through his teeth. Assassinating King Henrik was my father’s idea from the start.” She hesitated before she continued. “However, as Spymaster, Hans was definitely the one who sorted out the logistics of the plan. Uncle Hans is… a very convincing actor. The few times I overheard him discussing it, he never seemed to be anything more than blasé about his involvement, but I honestly believe he didn’t want to go through with the plan. I don’t know my uncle too well, but I do know he  _ never  _ wanted to go back to Arendelle. My father forced his hand for sure. And as for why my uncle is helping you now, well…” Iona laughed humorlessly. “When  _ you _ showed up at the harbour it was clear that Hans’s plan to frame Weselton had failed horribly. My father doesn’t forgive mistakes. My uncle was facing execution.”

Thomas was silent for a while.

“I think that explains some things,” he said eventually. He looked into Iona’s glimmering green eyes. “But why are  _ you _ helping me, Iona? What you’re doing, it’s treason, isn’t it? Am I worth that?”

“This isn’t just about you, Thomas. You’re a bit young for me, anyway.” The princess let out a genuine laugh this time as Thomas’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Her expression quickly became serious again. “My father is playing with fire. He thinks he can contain you, control you, or failing that use you to control your mother. He doesn’t understand that people are unpredictable. The people of the Southern Isles are  _ my _ future subjects. I have a duty to them, and I can’t sit back and let them suffer an eternal winter because of my father’s mistakes.”

Thomas stiffened. “My mother would never use her powers to harm your people!” he hissed.

Iona tilted her head. “No? You certainly know her better than I do, so that’s a relief to hear. You must agree that you haven’t set the best precedent yourself, though.” Thomas flinched when the princess placed her hand on top of his. Iona sighed. “We want the same thing, Thomas,” she said in a softer tone. “I’ll help you get back to your mother, I promise.”

Thomas nodded slowly. He glanced toward the stairs out of the cellar.

“Where is Hans now? How long are we going to be stuck down here?”

“Hans is doing Spymaster things and gathering information for us in the town,” Iona replied with a shrug. “Well, ex-Spymaster things, I suppose. He’s been gone a couple hours already, so he should be back soon. We’ll decide what to do next from there.”

The princess rose and began ascending the stairs. Thomas watched her until the heels of her boots rose out of sight above the ceiling.

“You know, I don’t know what to make of her.”

Thomas whirled to find Roderick had sat up and was regarding him with a lopsided smile.

“You heard everything, didn’t you?” the prince chuckled.

“Well, I  _ was  _ trying to sleep but voices seem to carry down here.” The Captain of the Guard’s expression turned serious. “I don’t trust her, Your Highness. She’s not telling the whole story. Needless to say, I trust Hans much less, but it seems his skills are invaluable to us in this pretty fiasco we’ve found ourselves in.” At that, Roderick grimaced.

Thomas leaned in. “So, what do we do?” he asked in a low voice.

Roderick scratched the stubble on his chin. “We go along with her plan for now. As the princess said, we seem to want the same thing for the moment.” The Captain’s worried gaze swept over the prince, lingering on his shoulder and thigh. “Besides, you’re in no condition to be outrunning soldiers at the moment, Highness. You need to rest.”

Before Thomas could reply, heavy footsteps sounded from the floor above. Worn boots descended the stairs to the cellar as Hans hurried into view. The man was panting heavily, his hair slick with sweat.

“I’ve got bad news,” Hans announced between breaths. “It seems like the King’s sent every last soldier in the army and the navy to hunt us down. You can thank Iona for that. A squad is already searching the town. They’ll reach our side soon. We have to move, now.”

Roderick and the other guards had already risen to standing.

“What’s the plan, then?” the Captain asked rapidly. “Where can we go to stay hidden?”

A sly smile crept across the ex-Spymaster’s face. “I’m better at this game than my brother. He’s probably already searched Athero thoroughly before moving on to the other towns. He’ll never expect us to go back, so that’s exactly where we will go.”

“Seriously?” Thomas blurted. “Your plan is to take us back to where we just escaped from?”

“Yes, it is.” Hans made a gesture of opening his palms toward the prince. Thomas scowled.

“We can’t keep running forever,” Roderick acquiesced. “This plan of yours is risky, but if it works, we'll be in a good position to launch our escape back to Arendelle.”

“Come on! We have to go!” called Iona’s frantic voice from upstairs.

The Captain glanced to Thomas apologetically. “On your feet, Your Highness.”

Thomas clenched his teeth against the screaming pain from his wounds as Roderick helped him to his feet. He clutched onto his mentor’s shoulders as the guards began to file up the stairs.

_ Here we go again. _

* * *

As the rays of the afternoon sun bathed the city of Athero in a blanket of gold, the Duke of Weselton finally lost his patience.

“What in God’s name is taking them so long?” he exclaimed explosively. He paced the deck of his galleon, shiphands stumbling to stay out of their sovereign’s way as his sharp-toed boots paced an erratic path across the polished planks.

Eventually the Duke’s wandering feet lead him to a spot beside the towering form of Commander Leon. The military leader had been transferred to the Duke’s vessel from the  _ Indomitable  _ shortly after she had pulled into formation early in the morning. To his credit, the man had maintained the same impassive attitude despite the Duke’s own mood visibly plummeting throughout the course of the day.

“Have some patience, Your Grace,” the Commander said in a gruff voice. “The men were given strict instructions to return by sunset. If they don’t, well, you were the one who said they were expendable. We can try a different tactic.”

“Don’t talk to me about patience, Commander,” the Duke grumbled. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years! Finally, the King of the Southern Isles will be forced to bow before me.”

“Maybe Mathias has a bad back,” Leon quipped with a chuckle.

The Duke scowled. Before he could form a retort, however, there came a shout from behind him.

“Rowboat sighted!”

The Duke darted to the officer who had given the report, yanking the spyglass from the man’s hands. Ignoring the man’s yelp of surprise, he put the instrument to his eye and squinted across the bay. He found the familiar shape of the rowboat bobbing on light swells about halfway across the water. He returned the spyglass to the officer with a rough shove.

The boat drew closer with agonizing slowness. When the deckhands finally pulled the smaller vessel level with the deck on its twin winches, the Duke roughly hoisted his steward on board by the collar of his jacket.

“What happened? Did King Mathias agree to the terms?  _ Report,  _ damn you!”

“P-please put me down, Your Grace. I’m having trouble breathing,” Gilbert wheezed. The Duke released his hold, sending the steward stumbling backward until he was caught by two soldiers before he fell back into the rowboat. Gilbert took a moment to catch his breath, cringing under his sovereign’s intense stare.

“King Mathias was… otherwise occupied, Your Grace,” he finally stated in a small voice. “He wouldn’t grant us audience. Soldiers barred us from entering the city all the way up until we returned.”

“You what?  _ Otherwise occupied!” _ The Duke began pacing in front of the rowboat. “What could possibly be more pressing at the moment than this literal  _ naval blockade?” _ He swept his arm violently toward the gunships sitting in the water around them, shooting Commander Leon a look of wild frustration. The Commander stepped forward slowly.

“Your Grace, if I may. If you would just be a little more… well, if you would be willing to wait a little longer, I’m sure the King will come around soon enough. We have enough ships to keep this blockade up indefinitely. We can send half of them back to Weselton to resupply and start a rotation. Once the pain of being completely cut off from trade truly starts, you can be sure Mathias will come crawling on his hands and knees.” The military man gave a wide, toothy grin. The corner of the Duke’s mouth twitched with a hint of a smile.

“I do like the sound of that. Very well. Gilbert, you may return to your regular duties.”

The steward bowed hurriedly before scurrying off down the deck. The Duke took one last look toward the still-smouldering ruins of the Imperial docks before making for his personal quarters. He’d been standing for the whole day and his joints creaked painfully. As much as the Duke hated to admit it, his age was certainly catching up to him.

_ No matter, _ he thought to himself.  _ Once I succeed in bringing the Southern Isles to its knees, I will go down in the annals of history. _

He had almost made it up the final set of stairs to the rear quarterdeck when a shout rang out from high above.

_ “Ship on the horizon!” _

Immediately, dozens of boots sounded on the deck as sailors rushed to their stations. The Duke squinted toward the source of the report far up the mainmast in the crow’s nest. He followed the direction of the distant officer’s spyglass, shielding his eyes from the setting sun as he scoured the horizon. A dark, angular fleck rose above the water to the north.

“What is it?” he heard Commander Leon call tensely.

_ “Looks like a frigate, sir!” _ came the swift reply.

“A straggler from the Southern Isles fleet?”

_ “I don’t think so. Her sails fly the crocus, sir!” _

The Duke felt the blood drain from his face.

_ No, no, no. Not now! _

“A ship from Arendelle?” he heard the Commander say. “What business does Arendelle have in the Southern Isles?”

He felt himself walking back down the deck as if his feet had a mind of their own. His hands clenched into tight fists within their pristine white gloves. By the time he drew next to the Commander, his face was a grim mask of determination.

“Whatever business Arendelle has, it can wait,” the Duke stated in a raised voice for everyone in proximity to hear. “The blockade stands! No ship gets in or out of Athero, without exception!” He turned to address Commander Leon. “Get back to the  _ Indomitable  _ and intercept that frigate,” he ordered in a quiet tone. “Inform them of the blockade and give them my ultimatum. Do not let that ship pass.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the large man answered with a hard smile. “Consider it done.”


	20. A Wind From the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “The Snow Queen”  
> [ThePianoGuys – “Let It Go/Vivaldi’s Winter”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Dakd7EIgBE)

Elsa’s eyes scoured the distant buildings of the capital city. Sandstone and mortar gleamed gold in the clear dusk. The form of the royal castle grew in her vision. No sign of Thomas yet.

_ He’s here. He has to be. _

She watched the towering form of the Man-of-War draw closer across the darkening waves with a growing sense of unease. Directing her gaze farther out, she saw no less than five other ships, stationary and spaced out in a semicircular perimeter around the Bay of Athero. According to the scout atop the crow’s nest, all of them bore the lion of Weselton.

She felt her sister’s hand squeeze even tighter around her own.

“Anna, please get below decks,” Elsa implored.

Her sister shook her head vehemently, her strawberry braids almost slapping into the Queen’s face from her proximity.

“Whatever’s going on here, we can face it together,” Anna stated stubbornly.

“Anna, that wasn’t the deal. When I say run, you run, remember?”

“Elsa, if the ship sinks, you’re my best chance at not drowning.”

Elsa opened her mouth to retort, but this time she couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, she let out an exasperated sigh, which elicited a smug grin from her sister.

“I never should have let you come,” Elsa muttered halfheartedly. She let go of Anna’s hand and walked up the quarterdeck to join Admiral Felix at the railing. The older man retracted his spyglass and turned to face her with a grim expression.

“I don’t like this one bit, Your Majesty,” he growled. “It seems like the whole Weselton navy is in these waters.”

“Could it have something to do with Thomas?” Elsa’s breath quickened at the thought.

“I don’t think so, at least not directly. According to the prisoner, the assassination was an attempt by the Southern Isles to  _ frame _ Weselton. I doubt Weselton even knows that Prince Thomas is here.”

Elsa pursed her lips. “What do you think this is, then? Why would Weselton be setting up a blockade around Athero?”

The Admiral’s thick, greying eyebrows angled downward in consternation. “It looks like we may have stumbled into a war, Your Majesty.” He handed Elsa the brass telescope and pointed toward the shore. “Look over there. The harbour is destroyed.”

Elsa’s eyes widened as she took in the distorted image projected through the lens of the spyglass. The setting sun cast the piers of the docks into sharp relief. The blackened husks of half-sunken ships jutted out of the water like the bones of some beached sea monster. The buildings nearest to the sea were blackened with ash and soot. Fires still smouldered in places along the shore.

She turned her attention to the warship moving to intercept them. She could already make out the figures of men moving about the deck. The gunports were open, the hull like a porcupine with cannons for quills.

“What’s our course of action, Your Majesty?” Admiral Felix regarded the approaching vessel, trepidation evident in his tone. “I would not advise taking the  _ Northwind  _ toe to toe with a ship of that calibre, much less an entire fleet.”

Elsa stared at the Man-of-War for a moment longer. “They don’t know why we’re here,” she mused out loud. “We don’t know why they’re here. They should be willing to communicate. Their quarrel is not with us.” She turned to the Admiral. “Raise the white flag and retract our guns.”

Felix tilted his head. “Are you sure that is wise, Your Majesty?”

“It’s either this or we turn back,” Elsa replied evenly. “We are not turning back without my son.”

She moved back up the deck to rejoin her sister. The white flag rose up the mainmast accompanied by the cacophonous sound of the gunports swinging shut.

“We’re surrendering?” Anna exclaimed incredulously as she saw the flag.

“No,” Elsa answered calmly. “We’re just going to have a chat.”

As if in response, the rows of cannons lining the hull of the approaching gunship retracted in near unison. Elsa breathed a small sigh of relief. The opposing vessel was only a few ship-lengths away now, and she could make out the name  _ Indomitable  _ inscribed in bold gold lettering upon her bow. She heard the Admiral yell out orders and watched sailors climb the rigging to furl the sails out of the wind. The  _ Northwind  _ drifted to a halt. The  _ Indomitable  _ furled its sails as well, slowing as it drew parallel with the Arendellian frigate. The massive silhouette of the Man-of-War cast a long shadow over the deck of the  _ Northwind _ .

The figure of a burly man crested the railing of the  _ Indomitable _ . He was dressed in a black uniform with gold accents, the metallic pins decorating his lapel glinting in the light of dusk. A large naval cap shaded his face from view.

“By decree of the Duke of Weselton, no ships are to enter or leave the port of Athero under force of death,” the man boomed in a deep, official tone. “Turn your vessel around!”

“That is outrageous!” Felix shot back, scowling upward toward the Weselton man. “What about peaceful fishing and mercantile craft?”

“Weselton is at war with the Southern Isles,” the man declared. “Until King Mathias agrees to our terms, we shall continue to maintain our blockade of Athero.”

“We are here as diplomatic emissaries of Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle,” the Admiral stated in a hard tone. “Impeding our path to seek audience with King Mathias can easily be seen as an act of war against our kingdom as well.”

“The blockade stands! Turn back now or be fired upon. This is your final warning.” The man turned to step back from the edge.

Elsa could feel the situation slipping from her grasp. In that instant, she made a decision. Clenching her jaw, she moved back across the deck to Admiral Felix’s side with fast, purposeful strides.

“Excuse me!” she shouted up toward the Man-of-War. “I have a proposition.”

The man leaned back over the railing. Elsa thought she saw him hesitate for a moment.

“Queen Elsa. This is a surprise,” the man called down.

“Admiral, lower the white flag, please.” Elsa made sure her voice was loud enough to carry. “What is your name and station, so I may address you properly?” she asked in a cold tone.

“Commander Leon of the Weselton military.”

“Well, Commander, I would like to assure you that Arendelle has no intention of stepping into your war with the Southern Isles. However, I have reason to believe that my son is in that city. I am here not as a queen, merely as a mother bringing her son home.”

“Your business here does not concern Weselton,” the Commander stated harshly. “For the last time, the blockade stands!”

Elsa paced a few steps toward the edge of the deck, making a show of putting a hand to her chin thoughtfully.

“Commander, your orders are simply to ensure no vessels travel in or out of the port of Athero until your duke has reached a satisfactory agreement with the King of the Southern Isles. Is this correct?”

“Correct.”

“I can help you with that,” Elsa stated matter-of-factly.

“Your Majesty, what are you doing?” the Admiral hissed from behind her.

“Trust me,” Elsa whispered back. She raised her arms toward the sky in a swift motion, her palms open. Her hands began to glow with an ethereal blue light.

A deep crack resonated through the air, as if the very sea itself had split in half. The temperature dropped noticeably. Suddenly, the  _ Northwind  _ jolted. A wave of blue-white luminance expanded outward across the water in a bubble from the keel. Behind the glowing edge, the surface of the ocean froze solid with the sound of a cascade of hardening crystal. The bubble accelerated as it grew, quickly shooting past the other ships of the blockade and toward the distant shore. A final hard peal like the toll of an icy bell echoed back across the now-solid surface of the bay.

Elsa heard a choking sound from the deck of the  _ Indomitable _ .

“That’s… sorcery! Witchcraft!” the Commander shouted in a flustered voice.

“I am glad that we could come to this mutually beneficial agreement, Commander.” Without another word, Elsa strode back to the Admiral. “Ready a squad of guards and bring the prisoner up on deck. We are going to see King Mathias.”

Felix wrenched his gaze from the frozen water, raising an eyebrow. “Only a squad? Are you sure?”

“Yes, Admiral. Without the ship, getting more men ashore will take too long.” She saw that Felix was still unhappy with her decision. “I will protect myself if it comes down to it,” she added in a lower voice.

The Admiral’s mouth drew to a thin line. “Very well, Your Majesty,” he conceded with a bow.

As Felix moved belowdecks, Elsa snuck a glance back toward the  _ Indomitable _ . Commander Leon had left the side of the railing and there seemed to be a commotion on deck, but the gunports remained closed.

“Elsa, that was… wow.” Anna had descended from the quarterdeck with an awestruck expression.

Elsa held up her hands. “I’ll thaw it, I promise. This is just until we get Thomas back.”

“No, this is amazing!” her sister said with a laugh. “That’ll show Weselton they can’t bully us!” She punched the air in the direction of the  _ Indomitable _ . “So, when are we going to shore?”

Elsa sighed.  _ “I _ am going to seek an audience with King Mathias as soon as the squad is ready.  _ You _ are going to stay on board this ship until I return. Weselton might not be openly hostile towards us at the moment, but the Southern Isles is a whole other matter.”

“But-”

“No buts, Anna. You’re staying here. Queen’s decree.”

Synchronized footsteps sounded from the stairs belowdecks. Felix stepped back into view with four green-clad royal guards in tow. The men had short swords hanging from their waists and crossbows at their backs. Marcus Everett stood between them, dressed in baggy prison clothes with his right hand shackled to his feet. The prisoner’s eyes went wide at the sight of the frozen sea.

“The men await your orders, Your Majesty,” Felix announced.

Elsa nodded. “Load up the rowboat and lower it onto the ice. Admiral, watch the ship until I return.” She turned back to her sister and held up her index finger. “Anna, don’t make me freeze your feet to the deck.”

Anna’s mouth froze mid-retort. Her eyes were filled with worry. “Just… be safe out there, okay?” she said softly.

“I’ll be fine, Anna.” Elsa forced a smile despite the pang of guilt that pierced her heart. Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the rowboat and moved to sit inside. The guards squeezed in after her with the prisoner, the chains of the shackles clinking as they hit against the side of the hull. As the winches began lowering the boat toward the ice below, one of the guards glanced to her in confusion.

“Your Majesty, how will we use the boat on the ice?”

Despite everything, the Queen laughed. She placed her hand on the edge of the boat. A coat of frost began to spread outward from the point of contact. A set of gleaming sleds grew from underneath the hull to meet the frozen surface of the sea. She threw her arms forward, channeling the magic in a different way. Twin bolts of light hit the ground in front of the makeshift sled and mounds of snow rose in the shape of stallions before the men’s astonished eyes. Icy harnesses materialized between the horses and the boat as she waved her hand.

“Bloody black magic,” she heard Marcus mutter from behind her.

With a gust of arctic wind and snow, the stallions’ eyes blazed blue with living energy. They reared high and gleaming red in the last light of the setting sun before galloping toward the mainland at Elsa’s command. The guards’ coats began to flutter as the sled gained speed.

Elsa fixed her gaze squarely on the castle nestled between the distant hills.

_ I’m coming, Thomas. _

* * *

The Duke of Weselton watched the  _ Indomitable  _ draw parallel with the Arendellian vessel with bated breath. He smiled darkly. Despite the frigate’s own impressive size, the Man-of-War’s imposing hull towered over it. For a while, both ships floated motionless, so close they were almost touching.

Then, the smile fell from his face. The water flashed with ethereal light as a shockwave exploded outward from the Arendellian vessel. With a terrible rumble, the entire bay froze over. Cold air washed over the Duke, but it was nothing in comparison to the chill he felt at the sight of the ice itself. Panic rose in his chest, threatening to overpower all rational thought.

_ She’s here. _

That night in Arendelle over two decades ago was carved permanently into his memory. The spikes of ice around the newly-crowned Queen had revealed her for what she was: an abomination that went against the natural order. In the years since his failed attempt to destroy the monster, the Duke had placated himself with the thought that at least Queen Elsa seemed to be making every effort to  _ not  _ involve her powers in her politics. She wasn’t doing any damage outside her own kingdom, and thus after her inevitable death—natural or otherwise—the threat would be gone for good. The Duke had told himself there was nothing  _ he _ needed to do except let nature take its course. He had been content for a time.

Then the Snow Queen had born a son. When the Duke found out the curse could be passed on, he could not sit idle any longer. He had to restore the natural order himself. It was his duty.

But he had failed. And now the Snow Queen had frozen his entire navy.

The Duke stormed up to the nearest officer on deck.

“Get men over there and find out what’s happening! _ ” _ he ordered as he jabbed a finger at the distant  _ Indomitable. _ His voice cracked with urgency.

“But, the ice, Your Grace-” the officer blubbered, eyes wide with shock.

“I don’t care if they have to crawl to that ship, I want a report  _ now!” _

“Y-yes, Your Grace!”

The Duke glowered down from the top of the stairs as sailors lowered a gangplank off the side of the ship. Two squads of soldiers stepped onto the ice and began to run toward the distant form of the  _ Indomitable. _ As he watched, a white shape peeled away from the Arendellian frigate, picking up speed as it moved across the surface of the bay. It blew past between the Duke’s galleon and the  _ Stalwart _ , making a beeline for the shore. As he squinted, the Duke thought he saw creatures of snow with glowing eyes dragging a sled behind them.

The soldiers moved at an agonizingly slow pace, their silhouettes mirrored on the ice. The Duke paced back and forth in front of the railing, wiping the lenses of his spectacles angrily as his breath fogged in the air. In his mind’s eye, visions of dominion over the Southern Isles were drowned out by those of razor-sharp icicles and snow blown by hurricane-force winds.

Something had to be done about the sorceress.

Eventually, the soldiers returned with Commander Leon in tow. The Duke rushed down the deck, almost tripping down the stairs in his haste to reach the Commander.

“What in God’s name happened?” he screeched. “I told you to stop their ship, not set off an eternal winter!”

“I didn’t expect the Snow Queen herself to be on board that ship!” Leon exclaimed, struggling to catch his breath after his long trek. He raised his hands as the Duke’s scowl deepened. “Look, Your Grace, Queen Elsa told me she isn’t here to intervene in the war.” There was a hint of fear in his eyes at the mention of the Snow Queen’s name. “She’s only here to bring her son home. I recommend we wait this out. Our advantage against the Southern Isles-”

“What did you say about her son?” the Duke asked in a low voice.

“The Queen said she’s here to bring her son home,” the Commander repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What does it matter?”

But the Duke’s mind was already years and oceans away in a stuffy guest room in Corona.

“The son has the curse,” he murmured. His eyes refocused on the Arendellian frigate with a new intensity. A plan materialized in his thoughts, brilliant in its simplicity.

_ Two birds, one stone. _

“Your Grace?”

“Commander, I have new orders for you.”

* * *

The sky had darkened by the time the royal castle rose back into view. Thomas’s breath came hard and laboured as Roderick pulled him through the trees. He stumbled on roots and rocks, each jolt sending pulses of dull pain through his wounds. Roderick had made the decision to remove the bandages several hours ago after they had begun to give off an unpleasant odor, and now yellowish fluid stained the left side of the prince’s shirt and soaked through his right pant leg. Thomas was no medical expert, but he knew this probably wasn’t a good sign.

Hans’s plan had proven sound for the time being. They had skirted around the perimeter of Evan’s Bluff, taking a wide detour before moving back in the direction of Athero. Thomas had spotted multiple groups of soldiers combing through the streets of the town, all moving in the opposite direction of the capital city. As they began their trek back through the forest, every audible footfall and broken branch had the prince’s heart leaping to his throat, but the trees around them had remained silent and empty. Still, he couldn’t shake the sense that they were being watched, even with Hans’s periodic trips backward to cover their tracks.

The trees thinned away as they crested another hill. Hans held up a hand to halt the group as he moved to scout along the ridge. Thomas slipped from Roderick’s shoulders and collapsed to the ground. His skin was covered in sweat and his head pounded like a drum with every beat of his heart. He screwed his eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over him.

“...mas.  _ Thomas!” _

Roderick’s hushed calls registered in his ears as if muffled by thick wood. He felt a hand on his forehead.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Thomas groaned as he propped himself upright with a trembling arm. “Just tired.”

“You have a fever, Thomas.” The Captain’s face was etched with concern. Roderick turned to Iona, who was crouched in the grass nearby. “He needs medical attention. I fear his wounds have become infected.”

The princess wrung her hands. She was quiet for a long moment.

“He’ll have to hold out a while longer,” she finally replied. “We don’t have any supplies to help him with.” Her eyes darted away when Thomas met them with his gaze. Before he could make anything of it, however, Hans had walked back to the group.

“You might want to see this,” the man said in a low voice, nodding toward Roderick and pointing over the hill. The Captain glanced back to Thomas with an expression of worry before moving up to the ridge. He ran back to the group immediately, his eyes wide as moons.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that Queen Elsa has arrived.”

At the mention of his mother, Thomas pulled himself back onto Roderick’s shoulders with renewed strength. As the group carefully moved up the hill, the dark arc of the ocean came into view. He heard Captain Edwards gasp from somewhere to his right.

“The Great Freeze has come to the Southern Isles,” Norman whispered with a dazed expression.

Thomas’s heart beat faster as he beheld the sight of the frozen bay. The vast expanse of black ice reflected the feeble light of the sliver of a moon like frosted glass. He saw the shapes of ships embedded on its smooth surface, so tiny in the distance.

“No, no, no! We’re too late!” Iona cried. Thomas turned to find the princess’s eyes bright with panic and anger. “You said Queen Elsa would never use her powers against the people of the Southern Isles!”

“Mother can thaw it!” Thomas stammered. “I-”

A loud crack split the air. With a cry of agony, the guard named Andre fell at his feet with a ragged, bloody hole in his chest. Thomas could only stare, dumbfounded. Unfamiliar voices erupted from the trees behind them.

_ “There they are!” _

_ “I see Hans! Shoot to kill!” _

“Over the ridge!” Roderick bellowed.

Thomas felt himself hoisted bodily off his feet as the Captain picked him up like a sack of potatoes. Another shot whizzed through the air as Roderick started sprinting. The instant they met the other side of the hill, Roderick dropped prone to the grass, slinging Thomas off his shoulders in a swift motion. The prince hit the ground hard, stifling a scream as a piercing pain ripped through his left shoulder. The edges of his vision darkened as he desperately clung to consciousness. He felt vibrations through the soil as more bodies hit the ground around him. Whether they were dead or taking cover, he did not know.

“... tracked us through the forest.”

He registered the sound of Hans’s voice through a thick haze.

“We can’t stay here!”

Something struck the hill in front of him, showering him with a plume of dirt.

“… his magic. It’s our only chance!”

He lifted his trembling hand, trying to raise a protective wall. He could only manage a burst of short, useless icicles before he collapsed from the effort. His gaze drifted down toward his throbbing shoulder. His stomach lurched at the nauseating sight of fresh blood seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

“Thomas, listen to me.”

Iona’s voice. She was kneeling beside him. Her face was very close. He hadn’t even felt her hand on his arm.

“I need you to focus. This is going to hurt.”

Then he knew that he was becoming delirious, because he thought the princess’s hands were glowing with a muted amber light. Her fingers pressed against the wound in his shoulder.

It felt like she had stabbed him with a white-hot poker. He writhed in Iona’s suddenly vice-like grip, trying desperately to escape the fingers burning into his skin. He screamed as he felt a second flare of heat light up in the wound in his thigh.

“What are you…  _ get off him!” _ he heard Roderick shout.

“No.” It was Hans’s voice, breathless with astonishment. “She’s healing him.”

As abruptly as it came, the pain subsided, spreading out and filling his body with a pleasant warmth. The sickly haze lifted from his mind like fog in the wind. In an instant, he felt the best he ever had since leaving Arendelle.

Iona stumbled backward, collapsing to the ground as she struggled for air.

“Get… to your mother’s ship, Thomas,” the princess gasped. “Go. I’ll distract them.”

“You…” Reeling with shock, Thomas reached out and grabbed Iona’s hand. “No, they’ll kill you!”

Iona shook her head, chuckling weakly. “I know my father.” She pulled her hand away gently and began crawling back up the hill. Once she reached the top, she cupped her hands by her mouth.  _ “Stop! Stop shooting! It’s me, Princess Iona!” _

Thomas felt a yank on the back of his shirt.

“Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain,” Roderick urged. “We need to move!”

The prince nodded mutely. He glanced back up the hill one last time. The soldiers were advancing on the princess now. There were at least five of them. One of the men looked in his direction and began to raise his rifle.

Thomas leapt to his feet and began to run. Baring his teeth, he completely let go, freeing the font of wintry power inside him. It was as if the air itself froze. Tiny crystals of ice materialized in a dense cloud around him, suspended motionless for the briefest of moments before they were blown into a blizzard by roaring winds. Thomas heard shouts of surprise as the storm grew in intensity until everything farther than an arm’s length was completely obscured. He thought he heard a gunshot but he kept running, willing the storm to follow as he raised a hand to clear a narrow patch of calm in front of him.

For a time, he lost himself in the thrill of the escape and the howl of the storm. The grass had given way to paving stones beneath his feet when he heard the Captain shout again.

“Your Highness! The men can’t take much more of this!”

“They’ll see us if I stop the snow!” Thomas yelled back. Roderick took him by the shoulders. Only then did the prince notice his mentor’s shivering frame and the purple tinge of his skin.

“Thomas, you’re killing us,” Roderick stated through chattering teeth.

Thomas lowered his arms slowly. Bit by bit, the air around them cleared as the wind died down and the snow dissipated, revealing a deserted city block beyond. With a start, he realized they were already well past the castle. There were no purple-uniformed men in sight, but still he tensed, half-expecting a bullet to fly out from one of the narrow alleyways around them.

The two guards farthest from Thomas collapsed to the street shivering. Roderick, Norman, and the remaining guard immediately moved to their aid, huddling together for warmth. The prince hugged himself tightly as a bitter tide of guilt washed over him.

“Sorry,” he whispered. He cringed at the glint of fear that he saw in Captain Edwards’s eyes. “That… that was reckless.”

“Your quick thinking saved us,” Roderick replied with a tight-lipped smile. He was still shivering, but there was gratitude in his eyes. “From that range with clear line-of-sight, they would have shot us down in seconds.” The Captain’s gaze lingered on the now-dried blood staining Thomas’s shirt. “So,” he said, exhaling. “That’s what the princess was hiding. How are you feeling?”

Thomas nodded haltingly. “Really good, actually.” He slipped a hand between the buttons of his shirt, marveling at the unblemished skin beneath. “The hole’s gone,” he breathed.

“Hans, did you know?” Roderick asked, his eyes searching the huddled group for the ex-Spymaster.

But Hans was nowhere to be found.

* * *

The streets of Athero were eerily quiet. The jangling of the prisoner’s manacles was almost painfully loud as it reverberated off the stone walls of the surrounding dwellings. The guards circled Elsa defensively, wary hands on the hilts of their swords as they scoured every dark doorway and alley for potential threats. The Queen had elected to dismiss the snow-horses as soon as they reached shore—no need to frighten the citizens further than she already had. Now, she wished she had kept them, if only to faster escape the oppressive emptiness of the city.

“Something’s not right,” Marcus grumbled.

“Silence, prisoner!” one of the guards immediately commanded.

Elsa heard Marcus gasp in pain as the man struck him. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the sound. A small, terrifying part of her had wanted to have the assassin tortured until he begged for mercy down in the dungeon back in Arendelle. An even smaller part had wanted to do it with her own hands. Her own ice.

_ If Prince Hans really did plan the attack…  _

Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides. She felt the curse stirring, begging for release. She bit the inside of her mouth until she tasted blood.

_ No. _

She couldn’t allow herself to lose control. Nothing could bring Henrik back. The only thing that mattered now was finding Thomas.

The layered parapets of the castle were much closer now. She could see the road up to the gates through the maze of buildings ahead of them. Elsa imagined King Mathias sitting in the throne room within. She had only met the man on one occasion, when he had paid Arendelle a personal visit in the summer after her coronation to apologize for his youngest brother’s conduct. He had seemed genuine enough then, but she knew of the King’s notorious penchant for military profiteering.

Glancing back at the Weselton navy ships scattered across the bay, she wondered how involved Mathias was in the death of her husband.

A sixth sense had her stopping in her tracks. She felt goosebumps as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She raised an arm to signal the squad to stop. Then she saw it.

Several blocks to their left, a wide, swirling column violent white and grey rose above the rooftops. There were only two possible sources of a blizzard like that, and she was one of them. Her legs began moving, driven by instinct. Soon, she was running, leaving the guards in the dust as they struggled to keep up while handling the prisoner.

“Your Majesty, wait! It could be dangerous!” one of them yelled. She ignored him.

She could hear the storm now: the scratching of ice crystals on roofing tiles, the howl of the wind as it buffeted into walls and whistled around corners. The air grew gelid and filled with sharp snowflakes. Her hair flew wildly behind her as she pushed on against the winds. Somewhere above her, a window shutter flew off its hinges. She raised a hand in front of her, furrowing her brow as she willed the raging air to part around her. She could barely see to the opposite side of the street anymore, but she no longer needed to see; she could  _ feel _ the magic fueling the storm like a beacon guiding her toward the source.

“Thomas!” she cried. With a grunt of determination, she splayed both hands and blasted the entire block clear with a powerful gust of her own wind. He was so close. “Thomas, I’m here!”

Abruptly, it all stopped. The wind vanished in an instant as the snowflakes slowed to a halt in mid-air before they, too, disappeared. The remnants of the storm contracted inward toward its centre as the mists were sucked away. Elsa slowed to a walk as the labyrinthian spiderweb of streets came back into view around her. She heard the familiar voices of her squad of guards accompanied by the jangling of the prisoner’s chains a ways behind her. But they weren’t the only voices she heard.

She passed another empty street. The next street was not empty. She saw a group of figures huddled in the centre of the road, clearly suffering from their exposure to the blizzard. One stood apart, seemingly unfazed by the snow around him despite the thin shirt he wore. Elsa saw the platinum-blonde mop of hair atop his head and her heart soared.

“Thomas!”

Her son turned. Elsa froze. His face was gaunt, bruised, and scarred, and oh God was that  _ blood  _ on his shirt…

“Mother? Mother!”

And suddenly she was holding him and none of it mattered. She clung to him, burying her face in his hair, forcing her trembling knees to support both their weight as her son collapsed into her arms.

“Shh. I’m here, my love. I’m here,” she soothed, kissing his forehead fiercely. Thomas clung to her even more tightly.

“I… I’ve done bad things, Mama,” he whispered into her chest. “I lost control, I killed-” His voice hitched as Elsa felt warm tears soak into the fabric of her dress. He was sobbing now. “I thought I lost you, I thought…” He looked up at her with so much pain in his eyes.

Elsa felt tears flow down her own cheeks, but she held her son’s gaze with furious resolve. “You’ll never lose me, Thomas. I would move mountains and part oceans for you” She stroked his hair like she did when he was a boy. “There isn’t a force in this world that can keep us apart.”

“Even death?” Thomas murmured in a small voice.

She cupped her son’s face in her hands.

“Not even death.”

Far from home under a foreign sky, mother and son held each other in silence, and for a moment everything was alright.


	21. Diplomacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “Two Queens”  
> [Two Steps From Hell – “Enchantress”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vCxBQy2SOk)

Hans ran. His muscles screamed for relent and his sweat soaked through layers of clothing, but he paid no need to the discomforts of his body. He had to make the most of the precious time the prince of Arendelle had bought him. He suppressed the urge to look back over his shoulder every few moments. The blizzard had masked his escape well enough.

There was no way Mathias’s men could pick up his trail through the snow.

The memory of Princess Iona’s glowing hands flashed behind his eyes. He didn’t know what to make of the fact that his niece harboured magic, but it made her actions much more understandable in retrospect. He wondered if Mathias had known; most likely not, seeing as the King had alienated his own darling daughter with his blatant attempt to manipulate and exploit the Snow Queen’s magical powers. It was almost poetic justice, really. It certainly would be if Iona’s plan came to fruition—but that was out of his hands now.

_ Could the source of the magic be hereditary? _

Hans realized that he had never known much about his eldest brother’s late wife. She had always been shy, living in seclusion and seldom interacting with anyone except the servants and castle staff. Perhaps she had been like Elsa, confused and afraid of her own abilities, but ultimately more successful at hiding them than the Snow Queen of Arendelle.

Then again, perhaps her death hadn’t been so natural after all.

The lights of the city flickered away behind him as they were screened from view by tree trunks. Branches whipped past his face, slapping at his arms and chest. He didn’t know where he was trying to go, not really. He only knew he was on the run from soldiers wielding firearms armed with only a stolen rapier. He had to find a way out of the Southern Isles. He had to disappear for good.

Only when Athero had completely disappeared from sight did Hans allow himself respite. He collapsed at the base of a tree, forcing himself to slow his breathing as his heart pounded out of his chest.

The plan had always been to disappear at some point, of course. His contacts within the castle could only get him so far, and Iona’s half-baked plot to spring Prince Thomas had been his best chance at escape. There had been the possibility that the boy would kill him outright for his involvement in King Henrik’s death, but it seemed Queen Elsa’s pacifist nature had enough of an influence on her son to allow for his survival. At the end of the day, the gamble worked, and now he was free. All according to plan.

So why did he feel so guilty?

Hans gritted his teeth. He had already stayed with the Arendellians for far longer than was necessary. He could have slunk away en route to Evan’s Bluff, or during their stay in the town, or on their way back to Athero, but he hadn’t because… 

_ Because I killed his father. I caused this mess. _

He shook his head at himself. Now was not the time to grow a conscience. He had committed his life to espionage and treachery. There were no morals; there was only the mission. And now the mission was simpler than ever: survive.

_ You’re not a Spymaster anymore, _ a voice nagged at the back of his head.  _ You’re not even a prince. What does it matter if you survive? You are nobody. _

He pushed himself back to a stand, grimacing at the twinging in his screaming muscles. He started walking.

_ The fact of the matter stands, brother. You have utterly and spectacularly failed me. _

A tree branch snapped under his foot. A longsword cleaved toward his head. His shoulders tensed at the memory.

_ Get this slime out of my sight. _

His hands clenched into fists. Twenty years of his life devoted in service to the crown, all of it meaningless. He had been like a child, always looking for validation from Mathias, always seeking to prove himself worthy. Yet his actions had only made him all the more worthless.

_ Can I say something crazy? _

Hans screwed his eyes shut. Twenty-one years ago, Princess Anna of Arendelle had fallen in love with him. For the briefest of hours, he had fallen right back in love with her. He was still haunted by her carefree laugh, her sea-green eyes. He had certainly never felt that way about anyone in the years since.

But his need to prove himself, his need to outdo his older brothers, had been stronger still.

Hans gritted his teeth. He had nobody to blame but himself for destroying any chance he had at that happy life. He had nobody else to blame for the destruction of his own humanity in a vain attempt to appease Mathias. He had nobody else to blame for his years serving from the shadows, all so he could be tossed aside like a used rag at the end.

His eyes snapped open as he savagely struck the nearest tree trunk. The air around him was silent except for the sound of his own breathing. The truth was, he wasn’t nobody. He was worse than nobody. He was Hans the liar, Hans the usurper, Hans the murderer. Even the King couldn’t strip him of those titles.

He saw the glint of the frozen bay through the trees ahead of him. Slowly, dazedly, he walked to the edge of the cliff, looking down on the vast expanse of smooth ice. He saw the Arendellian frigate below him, locked in place next to a towering Man-of-War of Weselton make. In his mind, he saw a different frozen bay. He saw a blizzard. He saw Elsa’s broken form collapsed on the surface of her own ice as he swung the sword that would make him a king.

He stood there for a long time.

* * *

A large part of Thomas wanted nothing more than to go home. But even as he clung to his mother, drinking in the comforting feeling of her arms around him, Iona’s words echoed hauntingly in his mind.

_ Assassinating King Henrik was my father’s idea from the start. _ .

He pulled himself back from his mother’s embrace.

“Mother… a lot has happened since I got here,” Thomas began. He swallowed, trying to clear the tears from his voice. “I was captured by soldiers. King Mathias wanted me to attack Weselton using my powers, but a princess helped me escape. She told me that the King was the one who ordered the attack on you and Father.”

He felt his mother’s arms tense. In an instant, Elsa’s expression of morphed from one of concern into one of such savage anger that she was almost unrecognizable. The stones beneath her feet grew tiny, razor-sharp stalagmites of ice.

“I… had my suspicions. But why would Mathias do such a thing.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She said the question like a statement—like she already knew the answer.

“He wanted to frame Weselton for the attack-” Thomas began to answer.

“So I would use my powers against Weselton,” Elsa finished in a breath. Thomas nodded.

“Mother, we can’t let Mathias get away with this!” He held onto his mother’s hand tightly.

“King Mathias will pay for what he has done,” Elsa responded in a frigid tone. Her eyes softened, however, as she met Thomas’s gaze. “But you can’t stay here, Thomas. This whole city is a war zone. I have to take you home.”

“Mother, I can’t go yet,” Thomas blurted out. He took a deep breath. “The King’s men captured Princess Iona. She helped me escape the castle. When we saw your ship, she tried to help me get to you, but we were attacked by soldiers. I was bleeding out and… she saved me. She has  _ magic, _ Mother. I-I can’t just let her get executed!”

Elsa’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She was silent for a moment.

“Your Majesty, if I may,” Roderick called as he approached from behind Thomas. “Princess Iona is the heir to the throne. She could make a powerful ally against the King.”

“Please, Mother,” Thomas implored. His mother looked at him with a conflicted expression. She turned to address the Captain for the first time.

“Captain Roderick, how many men do you have with you?”

“Three, Your Majesty. Andre fell in the skirmish where the princess was captured.”

“How are they holding up?”

The rest of the group had made their way up to join Roderick in an arc before the Queen. The Captain glanced around him before nodding firmly. “They’ve been through a lot these past few days, but they are ready to fight, Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty!”

Booted footfalls drew closer from behind Elsa as a squad of fully-armed and uniformed Royal Guard approached from down the street. The guards smiled warmly at Thomas as they took up position around his mother. With a start, Thomas realized that the assassin was with them. He shivered as the prisoner briefly met his eyes.

“What are your orders, Your Majesty?” one of the men asked.

Elsa surveyed the gathered party.

“We are here to bring those responsible for my husband’s death to justice,” she stated resolutely. “With my son’s information about King Mathias’s involvement, we finally have the means to do so. This is a diplomatic envoy. I think it’s high time we sought audience with the King.”

A thrill of excitement ran up Thomas’s spine.

* * *

The silence of the night no longer bothered Elsa. Marching up the road to the castle gate surrounded by the synchronized footsteps of the eight guards flanking the party, she felt in control for the first time since the assassination. She had found Thomas, and Thomas had found the truth behind Henrik’s death. She had purpose. She had resolve.

King Mathias would pay.

As she approached the towering outer wall of the castle, she heard shouts from up the hill. Figures emerged from the shadows around them: soldiers wearing purple uniforms bearing the axehead of the Southern Isles. Elsa regarded them calmly. There were at least ten of them, wielding an assortment of rapiers, polearms, and firearms. She raised a hand to stop her own men when they began to draw their weapons in kind.

“I’ll handle this,” she said under her breath.

“Halt!” one of the soldiers shouted in a commanding tone. The man wielded a long, silver musket. “You are harbouring fugitives of the crown. Relinquish custody of the prisoners at once or be fired upon!”

Elsa turned to the soldier, her posture stiff and regal.

“I am Elsa, Queen-Regnant of Arendelle,” she declared coldly. “I seek an audience with King Mathias of the Southern Isles.”

Murmurs broke out among the men surrounding the party. The soldier with the musket lowered his weapon slowly.

“You’re Queen Elsa?”

Elsa noticed his eyes dart nervously out toward the still-frozen bay.

“Yes. And I don’t take kindly to my son being imprisoned.”

She stared the man down harshly. The soldier took a small, fearful step backward. Some of the others raised their weapons again. Elsa opened her palms in a gesture of peace.

“No need for that, gentlemen. I, and the rest of my envoy, come only to make peaceful negotiation. Please notify the King that I have arrived and wish to speak with him immediately.”

The soldier with the musket stared blankly back at her for a moment. He gave a tiny nod before turning and making a run for the castle gates. The other soldiers continued to level their weapons at the Arendellians, some with noticeably trembling hands. Elsa could feel the tension radiating off her own men. Catching Captain Roderick’s eye, she turned her palm. The Southern Isles soldiers abruptly dropped their weapons, gasping in surprise and pain. By the time the weapons hit the ground, they had already accumulated a coat of frost.

“You are making my men uneasy, gentlemen,” she announced evenly. “I say again, we are a peaceful delegation. Let’s be civilized about this.” Without another word, she continued up the road at her previous pace, the rest of the Arendellians following closely behind her. The soldiers did not follow.

“Let’s not make a habit of that,” she heard Roderick mutter from behind her.

When they finally reached the towering castle gates, Elsa found them firmly closed. There were no guards stationed outside. As she surveyed the surrounding walls and parapets, she felt a strange sense of familiarity.

“I’ve seen this castle before,” she murmured. Visions of a raging blizzard flashed in her mind. Suddenly, she understood. Elsa turned around slowly. “Thomas, I had a vision of you in this place,” she said under her breath.

“A… vision?” Her son made himself very small. “What did you see?”

“I saw a blizzard. I saw soldiers. I saw you…” Her voice grew soft. “I saw you conjure spikes of ice and impale the soldiers.”

Thomas’s gaze was downcast. “Yes,” he whispered to the ground, barely audible. “I wanted to avenge Father. I lost control. I thought if I… if I caught up to Hans, I could make it right. Turns out Hans wasn’t even the one responsible.”

Elsa’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“It seems that, until recently at least, Hans was the Spymaster of the Southern Isles.” It was Roderick who replied. “According to Princess Iona, though Hans orchestrated the assassination as part of his duty to his station, it was King Mathias who mandated the action to be taken. But the scoundrel is far from innocent either way.” The last sentence was said in a lower voice.

Elsa moved her gaze to the prisoner near the back of the group. “Prisoner, does that sound plausible to you?” she asked in a raised voice.

The assassin met her gaze hesitantly, clearly surprised to have been addressed directly.

“The man was addressed as ‘Spymaster’ a few times I remember,” he replied with a terse nod.

The gates behind her rumbled as she heard latches being undone. The Arendellian guards tensed at the sound. Elsa turned to face the doors as they creaked open, revealing two castle guards dressed in more elaborate uniforms than the soldiers before. The men wore small berets and rapiers with intricate hilts at their hips.

“Queen Elsa of Arendelle,” one of the guards greeted formally. “The King will receive you now. Allow us to escort you to the throne room.”

At the Queen’s nod, the guards turned and strode down the path toward the castle proper. After the party moved under the archway, two more men materialized from behind the doors and shut them behind the Arendellians with a deep boom.

_ Into the lion’s den. _ Elsa pushed the sinister thought aside.

The guards pushed past another set of doors as they lead the Arendellians into the halls of the castle. The hallway was wider than any of the streets of the city, and the vaulted ceilings soared to grandiose heights. Where Arendelle castle had soft velvets and carpets, the royal castle of the Southern Isles had only bare stone and marble. The light from the lanterns protruding from the decorative pillars of the walls glared cold and white off the polished floor. The sounds of boots and the prisoner’s chains echoed forebodingly off the hard surfaces around them. The architecture was clearly meant to make visitors feel tiny and insignificant. As the guards marched ahead, stiff and silent, Elsa fought the urge to fold her arms in over her stomach.

It wasn’t long until they reached another set of doors. These were made of a dense wood painted the colour of ivory and inlaid with borders of gold twisting in floral patterns. The guards pulled open the doors in unison to reveal the throne room beyond. The chamber was vast but empty, every morsel of space designed to be in deference to the throne of gold-plated iron that sat atop a raised dais toward the back wall. A long carpet of deep purple lead from the entryway up to the base of the seat of power.

King Mathias of the Southern Isles sat atop the throne dressed in a long fur jacket. A glittering crown of gold and sapphires sat atop his grey hair. Elsa’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the small army of royal guards standing at attention along the path to the throne.

“Presenting Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle,” the same guard from the gate announced emotionlessly. The King regarded Elsa with a toothy smile as she stepped through the doorway with her entourage.

“Queen Elsa, what a pleasant surprise.” Mathias’s eyes flitted over the men following behind her.

“King Mathias.” Elsa kept her own countenance carefully impassive. She stopped several paces from the throne.

“A shame that we don’t speak more often, my queen. The whole situation with Hans during your coronation was so terribly unpleasant.”

“Spare the pleasantries,” Elsa said icily. “You know why I’m here.”

The King raised an eyebrow. “If you’re talking about my imprisonment of your son, I assure you it was necessary to put the people of Athero at ease after he went on a rampage through the city and killed fourteen of my soldiers.”

Elsa heard someone behind her suck in a sharp breath. She kept her own gaze fixed firmly on Mathias.

“I have reason to believe that you were responsible for an attack that left me gravely wounded and resulted in the death of Henrik Ingouf, my husband.”

The King’s pleasant facade slipped a little at her curt statement. His eyes hardened. “I don’t know which of Hans’s insidious lies have made their way to your ears, but I assure you I knew nothing of his treasonous plot until four days ago,” he stated slowly. “Upon my discovery, I had him immediately sentenced to execution, but it seems his influence reached deeper than I thought. He escaped the dungeons with the help of a turncoat guard.”

“You’re lying!” Thomas burst out. He stepped forward until he was abreast with Elsa. “Hans helped me escape the castle. If not for him, you would have used me as leverage against my mother!”

“More lies!” Mathias spat back. “Did it not occur to you that Hans was manipulating you for his own personal gain? He told you what you wanted to hear so he could guarantee his own escape!”

Elsa made a subtle gesture for Thomas to stay quiet. “Bring forward the prisoner,” she commanded. She watched the assassin as he was frog-marched forward by two of her guards. “Let it be known,” she stated loudly, “that this man, Marcus Everett, was not only involved in the attack against me and my husband, but was also the man who attempted the assassination of my son during a visit to the Kingdom of Corona four years ago.” She looked to her son briefly. “Is this true, Thomas?”

“Yes,” Thomas replied immediately.

Elsa turned back to the assassin. “Marcus Everett, you claim that Hans held the rank of Spymaster of the Southern Isles when you were under his employ. Do you attest to this?”

“Yes,” the assassin answered.

Mathias exhaled through his nose. “Hans did indeed serve as my Spymaster, but his plans against Arendelle were never made known to me,” he conceded. The King’s face twisted into a scowl. “Had I discovered his plot in time, your husband would still be alive.”

Elsa returned the scowl in kind. “Are you meaning to tell me you had so little control over the man in charge of your entire intelligence network that he was able to stage an assassination attempt in a kingdom across the ocean without you knowing about it?”

The King bowed his head. “I made the same mistake you did,” he said apologetically. “I entrusted Hans with too much power, despite his history of treachery. For that, I admit my fault, and I humbly ask for means to make reparations.”

“Mother, he’s still lying!” Thomas cried. He whirled on Mathias, teeth bared. “Where is Princess Iona? I know you’ve have her locked up somewhere! Are you going to sentence her to execution, too?”

“Control your insolence!” the King commanded harshly. “My daughter is safe and unharmed in the custody of my admiral. She was scared and confused when Weselton attacked in the night, and Hans took advantage of her to orchestrate his escape. She, too, was a victim of his lies.”

An unfamiliar woman’s voice sounded from the direction of the doorway.

“The only liar here is you, Father!”

Elsa turned to see a younger woman with black curls standing at the chamber entrance, flanked by two soldiers and an older, clean-shaven man bearing a fraternal resemblance to the King.

“Iona…” she heard her son whisper beside her.

“Joseph, what is the meaning of this!” Mathias boomed, rising from the throne. The guards flanking the carpet moved to draw their rapiers.

“I’m sorry, Brother, but this madness ends now,” the man named Joseph curtly responded. “I believe your daughter has words for the Queen of Arendelle.”

The princess stepped forward, ignoring the glares of the guards surrounding her.

“Queen Elsa, I can say with certainty that my father was responsible for the assassination of your husband.”

“Daughter, Hans has gotten in your head,” Mathias hissed through gritted teeth.

“No, Father.” The princess was facing the King directly now with her head held high. “What you have done is monstrous. You killed King Henrik of Arendelle in cold blood just so you could manipulate Queen Elsa into using her powers to attack Weselton for you! You’re a murderer.”

“My own daughter is spreading treasonous lies against me!” Mathias’s voice trembled with fury. There were tears in his eyes.

“No, Brother.” It was Joseph who replied this time. “Your daughter speaks the truth.” The Prince of the Southern Isles stepped forward to address Elsa even as a dozen rapiers were pointed to his chest. “I am the Admiral of the Imperial Navy. I provided Hans with the ship that he used to travel to Arendelle. I was in command of the warship that fired upon the civilian vessel carrying Prince Thomas when he arrived in Athero. I organized the search parties that went after Hans and Iona after their escape from the castle. The blood of everyone who died as a result of those actions is on my hands.” The Admiral turned to regard the King with steel in his eyes. “But I was only following my brother’s orders. A shame it’s taken me this long to grow a damn spine!”

Mathias took one step forward from the throne, his fists clenched. “So it is treason, then.” He drew his ceremonial longsword with a sharp ringing of metal. “All of you forget your place! I am the  _ King!  _ I am in control here!  _ Guards!” _

His breath fogged in the air.

Elsa raised her hand in a fluid motion. There was a piercing sound like splitting glass. The air was filled with a cacophony of yelps and gasps as the King’s guards were quickly encased up to their necks in solid ice, their weapons clattering uselessly to the floor.

“No,” the Snow Queen said simply, looking directly at Mathias, “you aren’t.”

She pointed her fingers at the King. Before Mathias could so much as move, he was blown off his feet by a blast of arctic wind. The longsword flew out of his hands, skittering across the floor behind the dais. As Mathias slammed into the throne, manacles of ice materialized around his wrists, binding him firmly to the chair. He struggled to no avail, glaring at Elsa with an expression of pure hatred.

“What’s your plan now, sorceress?” the King snarled. “Are you going to kill me?” He laughed sardonically.

Elsa hesitated. Gradually, she lowered her hand, staring down at the bound King.

“I am no murderer,” she stated flatly.

“Queen Elsa, if I may.” It was the princess’s voice, low and firm. Elsa turned around to face Iona, nodding for her to continue. “I am of age to rule. As Queen-Regnant, I would have my father tried in full for the crimes he has committed against Arendelle and her people.”

Elsa held the princess’s gaze for a moment.

“And you are prepared to bear this responsibility during this time of crisis?” she asked.

“Yes, Queen Elsa, I am.” Iona nodded firmly. Elsa nodded in return.

“Admiral, please fetch supplies to make a royal decree,” she ordered calmly. “King Mathias is abdicating the throne.”

Mathias began struggling harder as his brother exited the chamber.

“You can’t force me to abdicate now!” he shouted. He glared furiously at his daughter. “The Southern Isles is at war! You would weaken this nation during her hour of greatest need and serve our people to Weselton on a silver platter!”

“I’ll have the same advisors and the same military as you do,” the princess replied evenly.

“As if you would know how to use them!” Mathias spat contemptuously.

“I have devoted my life to studying how best to serve my people!” Iona shot back. “And unlike you, Father, I’ll be doing it with a conscience.”

“You are a snake,” Mathias said bitterly. Tears spilled from his eyes. “You’re just like Hans. I only wish I’d seen it sooner.”

Iona said nothing.

Joseph reappeared in the doorway clutching a roll of parchment and a box of pens. Iona snatched the writing supplies and sat down on the floor, scribbling furiously across the parchment heedless of the fallen rapiers surrounding her. She filled the page with practiced precision. When she was done, the princess handed the document to the Queen.

_ She had it all memorized, _ Elsa realized as she glanced through the watertight wording.

“You’ll never get me to sign that,” Mathias growled through clenched teeth.

“I don’t have to,” Iona replied impassively. She retrieved a small wooden object from the box of pens. “A stamp of the royal seal is as good as your signature. You should know: you made the law.”

_ She definitely thought this through, _ Elsa mused. She briefly considered the possibility that Iona was lying her way to the throne like her uncle had done two decades ago in Arendelle. Thomas’s words sounded again in her mind.

_ She saved me. She has magic, Mother! _

Elsa’s mouth drew to a determined line. With a wave of her hand, a smooth pedestal of ice rose from the ground in front of her. She set the announcement of abdication carefully on its surface. Iona stepped forward, stamping the document in a swift motion. The princess gestured to the pedestal, placing a pen beside the piece of parchment.

“Queen Elsa, if you would do the honour of being my witness.”

“No,” Joseph interjected quickly. “Let me do it. The people may distrust Queen Elsa’s involvement with Mathias’s abdication, but they’ll take the word of their Admiral.”

At Elsa’s nod of agreement, the Admiral stepped forward. After signing the document with a flourish, he rolled it up tightly in his hands.

“I’ll see to it that copies of this get made tonight. Heralds will be sent out first thing in the morning to bear the news to the people. In the meantime… ” Joseph gestured to his soldiers still standing in the doorway. “Take my brother to the dungeons and make sure he stays there until his trial. As soon as you’re done, spread the word. We serve under a new ruler, and the prince of Arendelle is no longer to be considered a fugitive.”

“Yes, sir,” the men replied smartly.

“You’ll regret this,” Mathias growled as they approached. “I’ll see to it that you’re all flayed to death!” The soldiers seemed not to hear him.

Elsa dismissed the manacles binding Mathias with a gesture. The soldiers took the former King roughly by the arms and marched him toward the exit. Joseph snatched the crown off his brother’s head as they passed by. Soon their footsteps had faded down the hallway.

Curling her arms inward, Elsa willed the ice entrapping the King’s guards to evaporate. The men fell to the floor, struggling to push themselves upright on trembling limbs. Many of them wore expressions of terror as they scrambled on all fours to distance themselves from the Queen of Arendelle.

“All hail Queen Iona of the Southern Isles,” the Admiral announced to the room as he carefully placed the crown atop the new queen’s head.

A deathly silence pervaded the chamber. Then, a small voice called out.

“Hail, Queen Iona.” One of the King’s guards had dropped to one knee with his head bowed.

One by one, each of the remaining guards scattered about the room did the same. “Hail, Queen Iona.”

“Long may she reign,” Elsa finished. She turned to face her own motley assortment of guards. “We’re done here.” Looking to Thomas, a weary smile tugged on the corner of her lips. “Let’s go home.”


	22. One Last Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “Means to the End”  
> [Two Steps From Hell – “No Honor in Blood”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNdZu0A6Qks)

Anna leaned over the railing and stared out over the vast expanse of frozen water.

Elsa had been gone for at least two hours by now. The night was dark, and she could barely even make out the shoreline of the mainland through the dense gloom. Once, she thought she saw a dense cloud of fog appear near the silhouette of the distant castle, but it had quickly disappeared into shadows as she squinted at it.

Her impatience was quickly getting the better of her. She was frustrated at her sister for leaving without her. After what had happened with Hans the last time, however, a small part of her was admittedly relieved that she wasn’t the one dealing with the rest of his brothers.

But then there was the issue of the Weselton navy _. _

The  _ Indomitable _ sat locked in the ice barely a gangplank’s distance away from the starboard side of the  _ Northwind _ . Occasionally, the silhouettes of people would be visible over the railing for short moments. Anna had also seen several groups of soldiers descend onto the ice and make their way back and forth between a large vessel in the middle of the bay. The sight of the black-uniformed men seeded a deep unease in her chest that only grew as the night continued.

“Messengers, most likely,” Admiral Felix had explained. “If the Duke is here, he’s bound to be losing his mind over what the Queen did. Weselton’s never been fond of magic.” After seeing the princess’s panicked expression, the Admiral had amended, “He wouldn’t dare oppose Queen Elsa now. That would mean forfeiting the war against the Southern Isles.”

Nonetheless, even after another hour of dead silence, Anna felt like she couldn’t breathe. She paced up and down the deck restlessly, switching between staring toward the shore and scrutinizing every shadowy detail of the opposing warship stuck motionless beside them. Two squads of Royal Guards stood sentinel at the starboard railings, pikes and rifles held at the ready. Another thirty-odd guards were off-duty belowdecks.

It was not nearly enough to quell the trepidation brought upon by the dark form towering above her.

A scratching sound from somewhere below stopped Anna in her tracks. She rushed to the railing, peering over the lip of the hull and scouring the surface of the bay.

“Your Highness, is something wrong?” one of the guards asked.

“Please get away from the railing, Princess Anna,” implored another. “That’s a long fall!”

“Shh!” Anna hissed. “I heard something.” But the sound had stopped. As she strained her ears, she heard a different sound toward the back of the ship, a pitter-patter like heavy raindrops. “Did you hear that?” she whispered to the nearest guard. The man squinted his eyes toward the stern.

“Let me check that out,” he muttered, gesturing for two of his comrades to follow. “Stay here, Your Highness.”

As the guards strode down the deck, the pitter-patter grew in volume. Now it was coming from the side of the hull behind Anna as well. The rest of the guards had taken notice. Warily, they moved to spread out around the princess with their weapons clutched in tense hands. Instinctively, Anna backed up until her back was against the mainmast.

Abruptly, the sounds ceased. The guards’ breaths plumed in the cold air.

The sound of whistling projectiles filled the air. A guard fell gurgling to the floor with the end of a crossbow bolt protruding from his neck. Anna screamed. As she watched, something grabbed one of the guards by the railing and yanked him over the edge. The man scarcely had the chance to cry out before another guard suffered the same fate. A third guard leapt back from the railing as a man wearing a Weselton navy uniform climbed onto the deck, brandishing a small wood-chopping axe in each hand. Sweeping her gaze around the ship in panic, Anna saw soldier after soldier spill onto the deck from multiple directions like a swarm black ants.

“Ambush!” she heard Admiral Felix yell.

She barely had time to duck around the other side of the mast before another volley of crossbow bolts slammed into the thick wood. The night came alive with the sounds of clashing steel as the royal guards fought for their lives against the onslaught of Weselton soldiers. The planks beneath her feet vibrated from an impact. Peeking from cover, Anna’s eyes widened in horror as she realized that a gangplank had been lowered down from the deck of the Man-of-War, bringing even more black-clad men pouring onto the  _ Northwind _ .

She recognized one of them as the burly Commander Leon from the previous afternoon.

“Find the princess!” the Commander ordered, calmly loading his crossbow as he stood at the top of the ramp. “Subdue the others by any means necessary.”

Anna shrank to the base of the mast as more guards fell wounded and dying around her. The planks glistened with fresh blood. Reinforcements were coming from the lower decks, but they emerged surrounded and disoriented and were being quickly dispatched. Her eyes flitted across the horde of soldiers, looking desperately for a path of escape.

Instead, she met the eyes of one of the enemies.

“There! I found the princess!” the man hollered gruffly as he began to make for her position, sword raised. There was a mighty clang as the man parried a strike from a nearby guard. Around her, more soldiers had heard the call and were already scrambling in her direction.

She had to run.

She darted from the mast toward the nearest group of allies, keeping low to stay out of sight of as many soldiers as possible. But there were simply too many. Anna yelped as she barely dodged a man charging at her with a pair of handaxes. Another soldier tried to tackle her, but he didn’t anticipate the princess fighting back. Anna kicked out savagely, hearing the man wheeze as her booted foot met his midriff. She leapt over his crumpling body, only to be met by the points of two swords as more soldiers closed in. She scooped up a sabre from the deck, brandishing it in front of her as she backed away from the enemy blades.

“There’s nowhere to run, Princess!” It was the Commander’s voice, cold and demanding. “Turn yourself in and stop this needless bloodshed!”

Anna looked around her in despair. The Royal Guards were being separated into smaller and smaller groups as they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. She saw the Admiral holding his own up on the quarterdeck with two guards, his sabre gleaming in the moonlight as he wielded it with expert precision—but even he was on his back foot, and quickly running out of space to retreat.

She bared her teeth at the encroaching soldiers ahead of her.

“What do you want with me?” she shouted

The soldiers said nothing and kept advancing. She heard heavy footsteps from behind her. Whirling, she came face to face with two more soldiers. She pointed her scavenged sabre wildly between the two groups of men, her breathing coming fast and shallow.

She was trapped.

“Grab her!” one of the men yelled.

She felt herself tackled from behind as someone else grabbed her sword arm. As she pitched forward onto the deck, she slashed out blindly with all her might. She was rewarded by a pained cry. Her moment of triumph was short-lived, however, as the sabre was wrenched from her fingers and she was pinned roughly to the deck. She tasted blood as her teeth cut into her cheek from the impact.

For a few breaths, she struggled vainly under the weight of the four men holding her. Her vision was obscured as a coarse sack was pulled over her head. She kicked out frantically as she felt herself lifted up and dragged backward. Dimly, she realized that she was being taken up some kind of ramp.

The men holding her stopped.

“Excellent. The Duke will be pleased.” It was the Commander’s voice, right by her ear.

* * *

Thomas had been silent for a long while.

The guards had been understandably tense as they left the castle. Despite not receiving much more than sideways glances from the Southern Isles counterparts as the Arendellians passed them by, there was an omnipresent sense of danger within the halls that had everyone on the verge of breaking into a run. Thomas half-expected King— _ former  _ King—Mathias to appear around a corner with a company of armed soldiers at any moment.

The constant jangling of the captive assassin’s shackles from close behind him certainly did nothing to calm his nerves.

_ It’s done. It’s over,  _ Thomas mentally repeated. He focused on the image of Mathias being dragged out of the throne room by his former soldiers, trying to make it drown out the image of the former King towering over him in the dungeon cell. Nonetheless, it was only after he had uneventfully returned to the streets of the city proper that he allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

Captain Edwards was the first to speak.

“So, that’s it, huh?” he ventured in a quiet voice.

Elsa sighed. “No. But it’s a start.”

It was a while before anyone spoke again. This time it was Captain Roderick.

“Your Majesty, I must apologize for my conduct these past several days,” he began haltingly. “It is my fault that Prince Thomas was wounded, imprisoned, and placed in mortal danger. I allowed my emotions to get the better of my judgement. I should never have allowed Thomas to make this voyage without proper planning and military support. I have failed in my duties as the Captain of the Guard, and I accept any disciplinary action that Your Majesty sees fit.”

The rest of the guards looked to Roderick with shocked expressions. Thomas was about to rush to his mentor’s defense, but a harsh glare from the Captain had him closing his mouth. His mother did not turn.

“We have all suffered great loss, Captain,” Elsa stated softly. Her shoulders slumped. “These have been dark days. I cannot forgive you for what you have done, not yet, but I cannot blame you either.” She stopped briefly, allowing half of the group to move ahead of her. She slid her hand over Thomas’s, her gaze turning to fix on Roderick. “What matters now is what we saved, in the end.”

Roderick gave a small bow with his eyes directed at the ground. “I understand, Your Majesty.”

Elsa’s gripped Thomas’s hand tightly. He could feel small tremors running through his mother’s arm.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he whispered before he even realized the words were coming out. “Everything you were afraid of, everything that  _ Father _ was afraid of… it all came true. Because of me.”

Elsa looked at him, her cerulean eyes filled with deep sorrow. Despite having grown to be taller than his mother, in that moment Thomas felt like a small boy. A sad smile touched Elsa’s lips.

“Not everything.” She brushed a lock of grimy hair back from his forehead. “Your father was right. Even with all the protection of the Royal Guard, none of us are ever truly safe. But your powers protected you when you needed them most, just as mine did.”

“Your powers protected you?” Thomas whispered.

“Well, partially.” There was a faraway look in his mother’s eyes. “When the doctors could do no more, Anna took me to the trolls. Olaf sacrificed himself to bring me back. But I haven’t been the same since. I keep having these  _ visions _ . Grand Pabbie said this magic of mine, of ours, is something fundamental and ancient. Something which even he doesn’t understand.”

Thomas’s eyebrows raised. He had only been to the Valley of the Living Rock a handful of times with his uncle. The troll named Pabbie was so ancient he was awe-inspiring. The creature seemed to practically exude an aura of magical power.

_ If even he doesn’t understand this power…  _

Thomas shuddered at the thought.

“Mother, these visions,” he ventured in a lower tone, “What did you see?”

His mother looked away. Her thumb kneaded the back of his hand.

“I saw the end of time. I saw strange magic in faraway lands. And I saw you, Thomas. I saw you at the castle gates.”

“I destroyed Sir Gingivere, Mother,” Thomas blurted. The tears returned to his eyes, unbidden. “He tried to stop me from entering the castle. He was trying to protect me. I… I should have listened to him, but I wasn’t thinking. This is all that’s left of him.” He pulled the sword of ice from the loop of his belt and held it out to his mother in trembling hands.

Elsa took the blade gently. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she looked over the weapon. “A part of him is still in here, isn’t it?” she murmured with her eyes closed.

Thomas nodded, his mouth opening in surprise. “You can hear him, too?”

His mother shook her head.

“No, but there’s something here. It feels like… you.” She returned the sword to Thomas’s hands and looked at him directly. “He’s not gone, Thomas. You didn’t just make Sir Gingivere, you gave him life. He’s a part of you. ” She helped him close his fingers back over the hilt. “Just like I did with Olaf.”

Thomas took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the feeling of the magic within the sword. He felt an echo of something, but as he reached out, it slipped from his grasp.

_ Sir Gingivere? Are you there? _

Silence. He sighed and slid the sword back into place by his hip.

“He spoke to me once after I broke his body,” Thomas said, watching his feet travel over the paving stones. “He told me you were alive. Do you know how he knew, Mother?” He laughed softly. His mother raised her eyebrows. “Because it’s your magic that keeps the sword frozen.”

Elsa smiled delicately. “That was back in Corona, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it must have been.” Thomas laughed again, louder this time. “You scolded me for making the sword, remember?”

“Yeah. I remember.” His mother laughed too, but her eyes were sad. “That was so long ago.”

The prince’s own laughter died quickly. “So much has changed since then.”

“Yes.” Elsa looked at him, her expression gentle. “But I’m still here. And so are you.”

Thomas nodded quietly. He took his mother’s hand again and directed his gaze out toward the frozen bay. The end of the road was in sight, still dark with ash from the ruins of the harbour. Pieces of burnt wood crunched underfoot the Arendellians travelled to the edge of the water. The night was unnaturally quiet without the sound of the ocean waves. Thomas eyed the dark forms of the ships of the Weselton navy jutting out of the ice in the distance.

“You really did sail into a war,” he breathed.

“Not our war,” his mother replied in a weary tone. “Arendelle will not intervene here. The Southern Isles and Weselton haven’t been on the friendliest terms for the past few decades, but this is on another level entirely.”

Thomas squinted out over the bay in an attempt to find the Arendellian vessel. “Mother, how are we getting back to the ship?” he asked. “Did you walk all the way here?”

“No.” A slightly mischievous smile crept across Elsa’s face. “We came in a boat.” She gestured to a spot near a half-sunken quay. Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle as he took in the medium-sized rowboat leaning on its side on the solid surface of the water.

The guards that had accompanied the Queen from the ship moved to drag the vessel to shore before roughly tossing the prisoner on board with a noisy rustling of chains.

“It’ll be a tight fit,” one of them remarked as Roderick and the rest of Thomas’s men boarded after them.

Roderick extended a hand to help Thomas into the boat as his mother took a few steps backward. Elsa raised her arms in an elegant motion as bright bolts of magic shot forth from her hands. The prince gaped as stallions of living snow rose from the ground in a cloud of glowing particles, pawing at the ice with their crystal hooves. Elsa sat herself in front of the boat on a ledge of ice, harnesses materializing between the horses and the hull with a wave of her hand. With a shout, she snapped the icy reins. Thomas clung to the edge of the boat as the makeshift sled flew across the frozen water to the sound of pounding hoofbeats. The wind played with his hair as the city of Athero shrank behind him.

The menacing shapes of Weselton warships grew as they moved out onto the open ice. The sled sped through the field of ice between a large galleon and even larger gunship. As they continued to power across the bay, Thomas finally caught a glimpse of the ship his mother had arrived in. His heart started beating faster with fear as he realized the  _ Northwind _ was situated right beside the largest warship he had ever seen. The towering shapes of the opposing ships grew in his vision as the sled drew closer and closer.

Then, he saw something that made his blood run cold.

The deep shadows below the stern of the Weselton warship were illuminated by firelight. A long line of black-clad soldiers stood evenly spread across the surface of the ice between the two ships. Each carried a burning torch in their right hand, the flickering flames casting harsh shadows over the contours of their faces.

“Something’s not right,” Roderick muttered. The guards cautiously moved to hover their hands over the hilts of their weapons. The snow-horses slowed to a canter as Elsa pulled back on the reins.

One of the Weselton soldiers shouted something up toward the gunship. The silhouettes of yet more men crested the stern far above. Metal gleamed under the cold moonlight. Elsa stopped the sled a wary distance from the line of soldiers.

“Arendelle’s business in Athero is finished,” she announced in a firm voice. “After we board the  _ Northwind _ , I will unfreeze the bay and interfere in your quarrel no further. Please, allow us to pass.”

“Unfortunately, Your Majesty, I must insist that you join me.”

Another figure moved into view at the stern railing of the Weselton, back bent with the weight of age. The man wore a dark naval coat resplendent with golden epaulettes suggesting a high rank. The man held a bright lantern illuminating his eyes, enlarged through his thick spectacles. His waxed moustache was twisted in a slanted smile. Thomas was gripped by an uncanny sense of familiarity.

_ Those glasses. That moustache. _

The man surveyed the scene below, finally locking eyes with him. Memories of the Coronan sun rose in the prince’s mind. He shivered.

“The Duke of Weselton,” Elsa growled. “I’m afraid I’m not in the mood to negotiate, Your Grace. We are going home.” The snow-horses reared and whinnied in sharp, ethereal screams, sending some of the soldiers scurrying backward in fear. But the Duke only laughed.

“Queen Elsa, you misunderstand. I  _ insist  _ that we speak aboard the  _ Indomitable _ . Commander!”

A tall, heavyset man with a large beard stepped forward beside the Duke. But Thomas only had eyes for the woman he pushed in front of him. She was dressed in a purple travel cloak and a black skirt. Her hands were bound behind her back and her face was obscured by the burlap sack covering her head. The commander held a short flintlock pistol in his other hand.

The Duke pulled the bag off of the hostage’s head. The air temperature suddenly dropped twenty degrees—but it was nothing compared to the cold fingers of terror that gripped Thomas’s heart at the sight of the strawberry-blonde hair that spilled into the lamplight.

Princess Anna stood above the Arendellians, a gun held to her temple.

The Queen’s guards immediately leapt out of the boat with their swords drawn. There was the faint sound of spreading frost as Elsa’s bench was replaced by an expanding throne of wicked spikes.

“Let. Her. Go.” The words were deadly. Barely-contained sparks of magic churned in the Queen’s clawed hands as she glared up at the Duke.

The Duke returned Elsa’s gaze with fire of his own.

“First, dismiss your  _ creations _ ,” he spat, gesturing toward the snow-horses with contempt.

Elsa didn’t move. The Duke’s expression twisted into a scowl.

“Do you think I’m bluffing, my Queen?” He walked over to the commander and snatched the pistol from the man’s hands. A gunshot rang out, reverberating endlessly across the hard ice. Anna’s body recoiled. Elsa screamed.

The opaque cloud of gunpowder smoke dissipated to reveal the princess’s trembling form behind it. Trembling, but unharmed. The Duke casually reloaded the pistol before handing it back.

“The horses, Your Majesty,” he demanded slowly.

Elsa waved her arm stiffly, causing the stallions to collapse into formless piles of snow. The Duke nodded grimly.

“You and your boy. Up on deck with me,” he commanded curtly. “Leave the rest down there.”

The line of soldiers began advancing up to the rowboat.

“Elsa, don’t-ah!” Anna’s yell was cut off as the commander pressed the barrel of the pistol harder against her head.

“Your Majesty, don’t go.” Roderick’s words were quiet and tense. “It’s a trap and you know it.”

Elsa didn’t seem to hear him. She stepped off the front of the boat and onto the frozen bay.

“I’ll go.” Her voice had lost its steel. “Please, leave my son out of this.” She sounded weak. Defeated.

“Your son comes or your sister dies,” the Duke stated flatly.

“Elsa,  _ don’t listen to him!” _

Anna struggled in her captor’s grasp with renewed fervour. Blood from an open cut across her eyebrow trickled down her cheek like a dark tear. Thomas could see his mother trembling, her regal frame cracking from the emotions that it could no longer contain.

He took a deep breath. He vaulted over the side of the boat and stepped out onto the ice.

“Thomas!”

Thomas ignored the Captain of the Guard’s urgent whisper as he strode stiffly forward to join his mother to face the man holding his aunt hostage.

“I’ll go,” he stated through gritted teeth, loud enough that the words carried to the Duke. “Just… promise you won’t hurt her.”

The sovereign’s moustache rose in a satisfied smile. “No harm will come to the Princess. You have my word.” The Duke turned and barked an order behind him.  _ “Lower the gangplank!” _

A long piece of wood, more of a ladder than a staircase, descended with a thud from the warship’s massive hull. Elsa glanced toward Thomas. Her hands were shaking.

“Thomas…”

“It’s okay, Mother,” Thomas said as soothingly as he could manage. In his mind, he saw not the Duke of Weselton but the figure of King Mathias standing over him.

_ I would request your aid to help me end this war quickly. _

“I think I know what he wants,” he said in a lower voice.

His mother nodded almost imperceptibly. Her expression hardened as she took stiff strides toward the gangplank. Thomas followed closely behind her, trying to calm his rapid breathing. The Duke’s soldiers closed in on the rest of the Arendellians behind them.

The ramp was almost too steep to walk. Thomas wobbled as he struggled to keep his footing on the protruding footholds, holding his hands out to steady himself. As he stepped higher, he risked a glance over his shoulder at the deck of the Arendellian frigate. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

The lacquered wooden planks of the deck glistened with streaks of dried blood. Unmoving bodies wearing the uniform of the Royal Guard had been dumped carelessly by the masts, their sightless eyes shining white under the moonlight. At the quarterdeck, what remained of the Arendellian forces knelt defenseless in rows, their hands held behind their heads. Weselton soldiers surrounded them in a dense perimeter, brandishing spears and loaded crossbows.

Elsa stumbled precariously in front of him, and Thomas knew she had seen the same grisly scene.

As they crested the top of the ramp, the prince’s heart sank further. A crescent of evenly-spaced soldiers stood spread across the deck, their expressions as stern as stone. These men had different uniforms than the soldiers that had waylaid them down on the ice: their tightly-buttoned coats were a deep burgundy, highlighted with gold trim and black collars. A small golden lion was embroidered on each of their lapels. Each held a long black musket in their gloved hands.

_ The Duke’s personal guard, _ Thomas realized with creeping dread.

Before them at the centre of the deck stood the Duke himself beside his commander. Anna writhed in the commander’s grip, making unintelligible sounds of panicked fury. Thomas’s jaw clenched as he saw that his aunt had been gagged with a handkerchief.

“We’re here. We’ve done as you asked. Now let my sister go.” Every word from Elsa’s mouth was a knife. But the Duke shook his head. There was a fierce intensity burning in the sovereign’s jaundiced eyes.

“Kneel before me,” he ordered. When neither mother nor son obliged, the Duke’s scowl deepened. “Need I remind you of the stakes here?  _ Kneel. _ ”

Slowly, stiffly, Elsa lowered herself to her knees, glaring up at the Duke in defiance all the while. Watching the commander wave his pistol menacingly, Thomas quickly followed suit. The sword slid out of his belt to clatter onto the deck. He stared at the floor, a pressure building within his chest.

“I know what you want from us!” he burst out. Thomas met the Duke’s sharp glare, his breath coming in quick gasps. “You need us to help you win the war.”

The Duke blinked, the scowl falling from his face to be replaced with a look of surprise. Thomas felt a thrill at the small victory.

The feeling was short lived.

The Duke began to chuckle.

“There’s an idea! I  _ could  _ use you, couldn’t I?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw the guards moving to fully encircle him and his mother. He heard faint shouting from the surface of the bay far below. In front of him, the Duke had started pacing in vigorous strides.

“But I fear you have misjudged me, my Prince,” the sovereign continued with his index finger in the air. “My motives are not to manipulate and take advantage of your  _ sorcery _ .” The last word dripped from his tongue like poison. The Duke stopped in his tracks abruptly.

“No. My only wish is to see your sorcery cleansed from this earth.”

The Duke raised his hand. The guards raised their muskets. Anna gave a muffled cry.

“Fire.”

A single gunshot rang out from behind.


	23. The Ice Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “Gingivere Returns”  
> [Two Steps From Hell – “Machine Dreams”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pY-hAyoQOdg)

Thomas curled inward, waiting for the pain. But the pain never came. He opened his eyes, half expecting to see his own blood staining the deck.

Instead, he saw the Duke of Weselton stagger backward away from him. The spotless white of the sovereign’s glove turned red, fresh blood seeping into the fabric as he clutched the left side of his chest. The Duke’s bespectacled eyes were focused on something behind Thomas. The guards were no longer pointing their rifles at Thomas and Elsa, instead whirling in the direction of a new threat.

But Elsa was faster.

With a lightning flick of her wrist, a spear of ice half the thickness of the mast shot up from the deck, striking the commander with such speed that it was as if the man simply disappeared. Before the gigantic icicle had even finished growing solidifying, Elsa threw her arms out beside her. A clear dome rose up around her and Thomas, immediately shattering with the furious howl of hurricane-force winds. Thomas’s ears popped as fragments of the dome exploded outward, slamming into the guards surrounding them. The men tried to evade, but despite their well-trained reflexes, only the two positioned near Anna managed to avoid getting knocked off their feet by the jagged projectiles. One screamed, arms pinwheeling as he was thrown overboard.

The Duke still stood before them, staring dumbfoundedly at the same spot behind Thomas.

“No, not you…” he choked out as he collapsed heavily to the deck.

Two gunshots blasted in Thomas’s ears, one after the other. Points of hot steel whizzed by his head, the sensation finally shaking him from his stupor. He dove to the deck and reached for Sir Gingivere’s sword. Closing his fingers around the hilt, he pushed himself to his feet, raising the sword in front of him with shaking hands.

The guards who had fired dashed for cover behind the mast. Thomas saw movement between the blocks of his mother’s ice as the rest of the guards slowly rose from the deck. The magic raged within him, growing into a maelstrom—but he was afraid, so terribly afraid.

Visions of the soldiers he killed in the streets flashed behind his eyes. The nauseating memory of warm blood dripping onto him as he struggled under the man he had impaled almost made him drop his sword right then and there.

_ Help me, Sir Gingivere!  _ he called out in despair.

Immediately, he felt a presence. What was left of his former guardian in the weapon had been barely an echo, but now it grew so loud that the ice practically vibrated with its song.

When Sir Gingivere answered, it was not with words but a single perfect idea. Thomas’s eyes widened. He let the ice flow.

White light raced along concentric boundaries of crystal as the sword began to glow from within. The light spilled out onto Thomas’s arms, coalescing into gauntlets of clear blue ice. Sheets of crystal flowed up to his chest, cascading down his torso in interlocking plates of armour before washing down his legs to encase them as well. The ice crept over his head as a slotted visor grew in front of his eyes. His breath reverberated in the confines of his new helmet.

Thomas raised his sword again. The blade pulsed with a muted light that surged into his armour in delicate veins.

_ Sir Gingivere? _

_ I am here, Master Thomas.  _ The light rippled gently.

The guards around him stared with terrified bewilderment. Some scrambled to pick up their muskets. Steel rang as the rest drew their swords.

Thomas saw his aunt’s panicked eyes shining from behind the line of adversaries, and suddenly he was no longer afraid. He charged.

The first guard cleaved downward at him, but Thomas paid the blade no heed as it glanced harmlessly off his pauldron. He knocked the man aside with ease, planting his feet in a combat stance as he placed himself between the guards and Anna. The armour should have felt heavy and cumbersome, but it barely restricted his movement at all. Its hinges bent and its plates slid as if they were an extension of his very will.

Three guards charged him at once. Thomas was ready. He met one sword with his own as he twisted out of the way of the others. Having witnessed the fate of their comrade, the guards were attacking much more cautiously now, stabbing at him from a distance in an attempt to find a weakness in his armour.

Thomas didn’t give them the chance. He grasped the nearest sword by the blade and yanked the guard wielding it toward him. Spinning to redirect another strike away from his midriff, he used the momentum to finish the turn with a devastating backhand that sent the first guard flying limply across the deck. He paused, listening to the echoes of his own breathing.

His mother said Sir Gingivere was a part of him. In that moment, he finally understood.

The remaining guards redoubled their efforts, feinting out of reach as they continued to jab at the prince like vipers. Thomas’s own sword arced through the air like a whirlwind, deflecting the blows as if it had a mind of its own. He dodged and parried with a speed and grace he had never known before, dancing a deadly ballet as he kept his foes at bay.

With a hard swing, one of the guard’s weapons shattered beneath his icy blade. Before the man could react, Thomas closed the distance with a leaping stride, smashing him into the floor with a punch that carried the inertia of a hundred kilograms of ice. He turned to face his other adversary, the plates in the fingers of his gauntlet clicking softly as he unclenched his fist.

The guard backed up slowly, a fearful tremor running through his sword. There was a crackle of frost as glass vines leapt up from the deck to wrap around his body. The guard toppled helplessly to the deck as he was encased in a tight cage of ice, revealing Elsa standing behind him wearing an expression of determined concentration. Thomas lowered his sword as he saw the rest of the Duke’s guards haphazardly strewn about the deck, having suffered a similar fate.

For a few seconds, mother and son stood frozen, surveying the destruction surrounding them as their chests heaved with exertion. Apart from the pained groans of the incapacitated guards, the night was silent.

Then Anna began sobbing. Elsa rushed to her sister’s side, untying the gag with gentle fingers before pulling her into a tight embrace as tears began to spill from her own eyes. Thomas approached the still form of the Duke of Weselton with hesitant steps. A pool of black blood had spread out across the planks beneath the sovereign’s body. Thomas pushed aside the Duke’s bloodied hand and it fell away without resistance, revealing a ragged hole in the jacket’s breast that was now all too familiar to the prince’s eyes.

The Duke of Weselton was dead.

Something heavy and metallic struck the deck behind him. Thomas whirled in the direction of the sound with his sword raised. There was a man at the gangplank entrance, leaning heavily on the railing with one hand as he clutched his side with the other. A flintlock pistol lay on the floor near him. Thomas’s eyes went wide behind the icy visor of his helmet as the sword slid from his grasp.

The man was Hans.

Instantly, he felt the full weight of the armour plates crushing down on him. With a grunt of exertion, he willed the encasing ice to let go, stepping out of the armour as it disintegrated into a fine crystal shower. Sliding Sir Gingivere’s sword back into his belt, Thomas ventured toward his unexpected savior.

“Hans?” he called incredulously.

“Didn’t expect me to come back, did you?” the former Spymaster chuckled. His chuckles turned into wet coughs that flecked his lips with blood. His legs buckled underneath him and Thomas rushed forward to catch him before he fell.

_ “Hans?”  _ Anna’s voice was equal parts shock and disdain. Her eyes held a veiled reprehension.

“Hello, Anna.” Hans’s voice was weak.

“Help, he’s hurt!” Thomas cried toward his mother.

A storm of conflicting emotions churned in Elsa’s eyes. She moved closer, brow furrowed in concern at the sight of the blood beginning to stain Hans’s coat.

“Thomas, I can’t… I don’t have anything to help him.” She held a hand out in front of her helplessly.

Suddenly, Thomas was struck with an idea.

“We’ll get him to Iona!” he exclaimed. “If she could heal me, she-”

“No.” It was Hans that cut him off between gritted teeth. “The fight’s not over.”

Thomas gazed down toward the  _ Northwind _ . Hans was right. The deck of the Arendellian frigate was in chaos. The Arendellian forces had seen their Queen ascend the gangplank and board the enemy warship. They had heard the gunfire that followed. Despite their inferior numbers, the Royal Guards had begun fighting back with a renewed vigor against their captors. A second cacophony of shouts and clashes of steel drifted up to the prince’s ears from toward the stern, suggesting Captain Roderick’s meagre squad was also doing battle on the surface of the bay.

The gangplank began to vibrate as men began to ascend from below.

“Don’t worry about me,” Hans stated firmly. “Put me down. They’re coming!”

Thomas obliged as the vibrations intensified. He glanced back toward the  _ Northwind _ before turning to face his mother with wild eyes.

“What do we do? They’re dying down there!”

The first soldier came into view from the gangplank, only to be knocked screaming back to the bay by thick barrier of ice. Flakes of snow drifted through the air as Elsa raised her hands, her extended fingers crackling with magical energy.

“I’ll get Anna back to the ship,” she said. The uncertainty was gone from her voice, replaced by the undeniable authority of a queen.

“But the soldiers-”

“I’ll handle them.” Her ice-blue irises were sharp as she looked Thomas in the eyes. “Stay here with your aunt.”

With a flick of her hand, the barrier of ice expanded to wrap completely around the railings fencing the deck, blocking any possibility of reaching their position by scaling the hull. Elsa shot her arms forward and a ramp of jagged crystals grew to bridge the gap between the decks of the two ships. She turned to give Anna’s hand a hard squeeze.

“I’ll be back.”

Just like that, she was gone, sliding down the glossy ramp with the speed of an alpine skier. The hem of Elsa’s dress flapped in the wind and her hair flew out behind her in its long braid. She hit the  _ Northwind _ with a bright pulse of light, etching the image of a snowflake fractal across the deck. At each point of the hexagon, a white figure rose from the floor—facsimiles of Royal Guards made of living snow.

The sound of a familiar voice bellowing had Thomas tearing his gaze away from his mother. He craned his neck over the frozen barrier covering the railing. His heart sank.

Captain Roderick’s forces were completely surrounded on the surface of the bay, fighting for mere survival as they were driven back toward the rowboat. Three bodies already lay prone on the ice, though Thomas couldn’t tell if they were Arendellian or Weselton.

“They need help, Thomas,” Hans gasped. “My fault, I’m afraid. Had to… get this.” He picked up the pistol and waved it in the air. Thomas noticed the rapier hanging from the ex-Spymaster’s belt was stained with congealing blood.

He turned to his aunt, who simply nodded.

“Go, Tom,” Anna said. “I’ll be fine.”

Thomas blinked in surprise. “But Mother said-”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being your mother’s sister all these years, it’s that her orders should always be taken as guidelines.” There was a mischievous glint in his aunt’s eyes. “Besides, I doubt I can stop you either way.”

Thomas nodded gratefully. “I’ll be back,” he promised.

“Oh, I know you will.”

Moving to the edge of the deck, Thomas drew his sword and held it high. He took a deep breath to steel his nerves.

_ Ready, Sir Gingivere? _

_ I don’t believe they are, Master Thomas. _

He grinned. With a running start, he vaulted over the railing into the open air. His heart leapt into his throat as he fell. Sir Gingivere’s armour materialized around him piece by meticulous piece. The wind stopped hitting his face as the visor reappeared in front of his eyes. Gleaming in the moonlight, the surface of the bay rushed up toward him with terrific speed.

He was ready.

He met the bay like a falling star. The ice buckled beneath him, cushioning his fall with a spiderweb of cracks. The Arendellian guards did double takes as the armoured prince rose from the ground behind the arc of Weselton soldiers. A knot formed in Thomas’s stomach as he realized one of the motionless bodies on the ice wore the uniform of the Royal Guard.

_ “Thomas?” _ Captain Roderick called disbelievingly.

The fighting lulled as the enemy soldiers turned to face their new opponent one by one.

“What is that thing?”

“More of the Snow Queen’s sorcery! Destroy it!”

Three soldiers began advancing toward Thomas, twirling their weapons menacingly. To the prince’s dismay, the rest redoubled their efforts against the Arendellians, whose movements were sluggish with clear fatigue. With a cry of exertion, Thomas closed his fist and  _ pulled _ . The gauntlet flashed briefly as giant palisades of ice jutted from the ground around the Arendellians in a protective perimeter. The Weselton soldiers reeled backward from the crystal spikes, turning back to face him with their weapons raised.

Thomas heard footfalls from behind. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the remaining soldiers from the gangplank had descended back to the bay and were running toward him. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on Sir Gingivere’s sword.

_ “It’s over! Your leaders are dead!” _ he shouted, his voice multiplied by his helmet.  _ “I don’t want to fight! Just let us go!” _

Some of the soldiers hesitated at his words. A spark of hope lit within Thomas’s chest.

“He killed our Duke!” one of them shouted. The spark was quickly snuffed out as cries of rage rose from the others.

“Treason!”

“Death to the sorcerer!”

The soldiers charged. Thomas saw one draw a pistol from the folds of his coat, and suddenly the ice could no longer be contained.

This time, Thomas didn’t try.

As the man aimed the pistol in his direction, he threw out his free hand, letting fly a wicked crystal sheet that effortlessly removed the soldier’s limb. He averted his eyes as the man clutched at the ruined stump of his arm, directing his attention to the rest of his assailants.

Blades swung at him from every direction. They had him nine to one, but there was no longer time to dwell on the thought. He feinted and parried, but this time there were simply too many of them. There was a horrible screeching as sharp metal scored the plates of his armour. He twisted and grasped at the air, a diamond-shaped shield coalescing over his hand as he concentrated on its image. He knocked over a soldier as he charged forward with the shield held in front of him, trying to gain himself some distance from the melee. The man’s head hit the icy ground with a heavy thud, and he did not rise.

Sliding to a stop, Thomas pivoted and threw the shield like a discus at the nearest adversary. Ordinarily, the prince would barely have been able to even lift a piece of ice so thick, but with Sir Gingivere’s enhanced strength, the throw knocked the man over like a bowling pin. The other soldiers circled warily, and for a moment there was only the sound of the amputee’s screams of agony.

There was a deafening blast as an invisible force knocked Thomas to the floor. Shards of ice fell from the armour on his back as he struggled to push himself up. Another gunshot rang out and he barely had time to flip on his side before a bullet carved a ragged trough in the ice where his head had been. Two soldiers had managed to flank him with their flintlocks.

_ We must end this quickly, Master Thomas. _

_ Yeah, no kidding! _

Sparks flew from his fingers as he closed his fist, sending a dense plume of snow into the air to cloak his position in an opaque cloud. It was a trick he learned at a young age from countless snowball fights with his cousins; he never thought he would be using it in a fight for his life. He leapt to his feet, taking advantage of the momentary cover to catch his breath. The suit of armour shone with glowing patterns of frost as he felt the plates reform over his back.

_ Alright, Sir Gingivere. Our turn. _

Thomas broke into a sprint, bounding over the ice as the armour boosted his strides. He leapt out of the cloud of snow with his fist raised, smashing one soldier into the ground before the man could react. As he landed, he struck surface of the bay with his open palm, sending out a wave of snow that struck two more soldiers, launching them into the air and suspending them a metre above the ground as it solidified to clear ice.

_ Five left. _

This time, it was Thomas who advanced. He saw another soldier move to draw a pistol. Whirling his sword over his head, he let fly an arc of magic that exploded into jagged crystal shards as it struck the ground, knocking the man off his feet with a howling blast. Taking the sword in both hands, he cleaved downward as he closed the distance to the nearest soldier. The icy blade hissed with vicious cold as it cut through the air, shattering the opponent’s sword like glass. Thomas picked the defenseless man off the ground by the front of his uniform, using the momentum of his run to hurl him bodily into the next closest adversary. The two crumpled to the ground in an ungainly heap.

The wind had picked up now. A fine cloud of snowflakes swirled around Thomas’s legs as he walked toward the remaining two soldiers, his armoured footfalls pealing like thunder. The men huddled together with their swords raised in defiance.

_ “Monster!” _ one of them hissed. His voice trembled with fear.

Thomas stopped several paces in front of them. He willed the snow to freeze in the air. For a few breaths, he stared back at the soldiers silently. Then, with a single resolute motion, he stuck Sir Gingivere’s sword into the ice at his feet.

“No,” he stated softly. “I am not your enemy.”

The armour fell away piece by piece as Thomas cut off the magic holding it in place. The Weselton soldiers’ eyes widened in surprise. Thomas moved forward a single step, dissipating the armour plates at his feet with a gentle wave.

“Please. I’ve lost my father. I’ve been through hell. I just want to go home.”

The soldiers stood frozen for several long breaths. One lowered his sword, then the other. The man on the right gave the tiniest of nods. Wordlessly, Thomas pulled Sir Gingivere’s sword from the ground and slid it back into his belt. He turned and walked back toward the rowboat, taking deep breaths to steady his pounding heart. Opening his arms, he cleared a path in the protective fence of ice, revealing familiar faces on the other side.

Captain Roderick emerged cautiously with his sabre still drawn. Thomas locked eyes with his mentor and he broke into a run, tackling Roderick with a tight embrace. The sabre clattered to the ground as Roderick returned the hug.

“Are you alright, Highness? Are you hurt?” he asked gruffly.

“I’m… I’m alright.” Thomas pulled back, tears blurring his vision.

“I am glad.” The Captain’s gaze drifted to the sword at the prince’s side. “Seems like there’s still a bit of that knight of yours left, after all.”

Thomas nodded. He swallowed a lump in his throat as his eyes found the prone form of the fallen guard only a few paces away on the ice.

“Who did we lose?” he whispered. Roderick took him by the shoulders and shook his head.

“There will be time to grieve later. The battle comes first, and the battle is not won until we take back the  _ Northwind. _ ”

Thomas’s eyes widened. “Mother! She’s still up there!”

Roderick leaned down to pick up his blade. “Then that’s where we have to go.”

* * *

The deck of the  _ Northwind  _ was a battlefield.

The Duke had evidently gone all-out with his plan of attack; the vast majority of the soldiers stationed with the  _ Indomitable  _ had been involved in taking the Arendellian frigate. The night gleamed with the points of a hundred swords as enemies swarmed Elsa like flies.

But even with their overwhelming numbers, the Weselton soldiers were no match for the Snow Queen.

For half of her life, Elsa had cursed her powers like they were a disease. Even after the Great Thaw, it had taken years before she trusted herself enough to be comfortable using her magic around her loved ones. To this day, she still suffered nightmares of her sister standing over her, frozen to solid ice by her own terrible curse. The very idea of using her powers with the intention to harm made her feel sick.

Then the Duke of Weselton had held her sister and her son at gunpoint, and suddenly none of it mattered.

Elsa waded through the enemy soldiers with grim focus. A snowstorm whirled around her and she used it to her advantage, giving her blinded opponents no chance to retaliate. A symphony of ice and snow flew from her fingertips as she moved her arms with the grace and precision of a conductor, blasting men aside and freezing others in crystal prisons. Blades swung at her only to be deflected unerringly by jagged stalagmites. Wherever she went, the battle turned in the Arendellians’ favour in the blink of an eye. Her snow-soldiers made a defensive arc around the surviving Royal Guards, fighting with mechanical recklessness as swords and crossbow bolts stuck into them to little effect.

As she fought, she saw the fear reflected in her enemies’ eyes. For once, she felt nothing but cold satisfaction.

The battle was over quickly. Elsa dismissed her personal storm with a gesture, revealing the winter landscape that now surrounded her. Frozen soldiers jutted from the frost-covered deck like strange icicles, their gasps and struggles forming a hideous background to the silence of the night. The snowmen stood like statues around the Arendellian forces, many of whom nursed injuries from the fight. Her mouth drew to a thin line as she took in the bodies strewn across the deck.

She had known those men. Now they were dead, never to return to their families and loved ones.

_ Because of me,  _ a bitter voice echoed in Elsa’s mind.

“What the Duke of Weselton did today is nothing short of an open act of war against Arendelle,” she announced to the tense silence. “Let it be known that each and every one of you is now an enemy of the crown.” Elsa raised a fist and the snow-soldiers came back to life, spreading out across the deck with their weapons raised.

“Mercy! Please, Queen Elsa!” came a pitiful cry from one of the Weselton men.

The Queen let the silence drag. The snowmen stopped as they moved to flank the landing to the bridge of ice between the two ships. She swept her arms and steps grew in a cascade up its smooth surface.

Footsteps sounded from the stern. Elsa turned, her hands hissing steam as she raised them in anticipation of a new threat. She immediately lowered them as she saw Thomas and some of the guards from the rowboat cresting a crude staircase of ice onto the deck.

“Thomas? What are you doing here? I told you to stay with Anna!”

Thomas was looking around at the trapped Weselton soldiers in astonishment.

“Captain Roderick needed help,” he replied after a moment, wringing his hands sheepishly.

“I should never have doubted Your Majesty’s ability to defend yourself,” Roderick commented appreciatively.

But Elsa was already dashing for the staircase to the  _ Indomitable _ . She flew up the icy steps three at a time, holding up the hem of her skirt so she could run faster.

“Anna!” she cried.

She leapt across the final steps onto the deck of the Man-of-War, breathing a huge sigh of relief when she saw her sister kneeling unharmed near the railing. The Ducal Guards were still strewn about the deck in their prisons of ice, and Elsa paid them little heed as she rushed to Anna’s side.

Her footsteps slowed as she saw the form her sister was leaning over. Hans was slumped limply on the ground, propped up by a pole in the railing. His skin had taken on a ghastly, bloodless pallor. A makeshift bandage of torn pieces of jacket fabric seeped red onto the lacquered surface of the deck. Anna’s hands were crusted with crimson.

“Elsa, I can’t stop the bleeding,” she said in a low voice.

Elsa knelt down beside her sister, squeezing her shoulder quietly as she stared at the man whom she had hated for so many years. In her mind, Hans had always been large and triumphant, sneering down at her with a raised sword. Before her now was a broken man. A dying man.

A man who had saved the lives of her and her son.

Hans’s eyes fluttered open. His eyes widened as they met Elsa’s, but then they moved to Anna’s with determination.

“Anna… listen.” His breathing was shallow and laboured, but his gaze burned with surprising intensity. “I sent the assassins. Mathias gave the order, but I was the one who did it.”

His voice caught as he grimaced under a wave of pain.

“Hans…” Anna breathed, her eyes narrowing in concern even as her voice trembled with shock.

The former prince pushed on, every word seeming to drain him further.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness. What I’ve done is unforgivable. I just want you to… I have wronged you.” There were tears in his eyes now. He fixed his gaze on Elsa, his voice wavering with more than just exertion. “I know there is no happy ending for me. I came back… wanted to do one good thing. Don’t…”

Hans coughed weakly and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Hans? Hans!”

Tears were streaming down Anna’s cheeks now as she held the man she had known as her enemy by the shoulders. She shook him gently, but Hans was unresponsive.

Elsa’s eyes were riveted to the man’s chest. A jumble of emotions rose within her as she watched the movement of his breathing become weaker and weaker.

“Elsa?” Anna was sniffling, her expression torn. “Elsa, what do we do?”

The wind whistled in the older sister’s ears.

“We can’t help him,” she whispered. She worried at her lip. “But I know someone who can.”

Elsa rose from the deck and stamped her foot. A smooth ribbon of ice grew from the point of contact, running over the still-frozen railing of the deck and off the side of the ship like a winter brook suspended in mid-air. Sheets of clear crystal curled up from the deck, taking on the shape of a small canoe as they fused together in a cradle around Hans’s body.

“His fate will not be decided by this queen,” Elsa stated with quiet finality.

She extended her fingers. A gust of wind pushed the vessel off the edge with a light dusting of snow. She watched as the canoe picked up speed, flying across the gleaming surface of the bay like a comet as it disappeared in the direction of the distant shore. She took Anna’s hand gently, and the younger woman collapsed into her arms. Tears soaked into the fabric of Elsa’s dress as Anna buried her face in her sister’s shoulder, her body trembling under all the terrible stress the night had brought.

“It’s over now, you’re safe,” Elsa soothed as she ran her fingers through her sister’s tangled locks. “It’s over.” She wanted so desperately to believe her own words.

They held each other on the deck of the enemy warship for what seemed like hours. In the end, it was Anna who pulled away first.

“Let’s go home,” she said simply.

Elsa nodded. The sisters descended the icy staircase back to the  _ Northwind _ hand in hand. Admiral Felix awaited them at the landing.

“What are your orders, Your Majesty?” Felix inquired loudly, gesturing around him at the immobilized Weselton soldiers. Thick bandages enrobed his left knee, and he was using his sword and scabbard as a makeshift cane. “Are we to dispose of these pests?”

Elsa clasped her hands at her waist as she regarded the enemy forces. Abject fear shone from the expressions those stuck facing in her direction.

“No, they can see themselves off this ship.”

The ice covering the deck sublimated into the night with a wave of Elsa’s hand, dropping the soldiers unceremoniously to the floor. The men rose with halting motions, their gazes flitting between the Snow Queen and the staircase back up to their ship. One by one, the soldiers filed up the icy steps, many dropping their weapons in favour of supporting their injured comrades. Elsa’s snowmen stood completely immobile as they passed by, but the presence of the magical automatons was more than enough to keep the Weselton men in terrified silence. As the last of the soldiers scurried off the  _ Northwind _ , Elsa dismissed the bridge between the ships with another gesture.

“Your Majesty, is it wise to let them off so easily?” the Admiral asked in a lower voice, his eyes still fixed contemptuously on the retreating forms of the soldiers.

“Weselton would be wise to not mistake my mercy for forgiveness,” Elsa replied in a deadly tone. “Are we ready to sail, Admiral?”

The older man bowed with difficulty. “Enough of the crew is in shape to get us back to Arendelle.”

“Then make preparations to sail for home.”

The Admiral raised an eyebrow. “What of the enemy fleet? The moment you unfreeze the bay, they’ll tear us to shreds!”

“The Duke is dead,” Elsa replied with a shake of her head. “There’s nobody to give the order.”

Felix’s eyes widened. “Very well, Your Majesty.”

As she watched the aged sailor his way down the deck, Elsa felt a hand gently take her arm. She turned to find Thomas at her side. For the second time since their reunion, her heart cracked at the sight of his disheveled clothing and deep tiredness in his eyes. Taking her son’s hand in her own, she raised her other hand to the sky and closed her eyes.

A deep rumble resonated across the frozen bay. A sound like the tinkling of a thousand distant wind chimes filled the air. The hull beneath her swayed ever so slightly as the water on which it rested became liquid once more. She opened her eyes to find the shape of a snowflake etched in shimmering light in the sky above Athero. As she let go of her breath, it dissipated in a scattering of stars.

She heard the Admiral shout something. The great tanned sails of the frigate unfurled above her, proclaiming the Crocus of Arendelle to the open sea. She curled her fingers and the masts creaked as the sails filled with wind.

Anna squashed Thomas into Elsa as she wrapped both mother and son in a tight hug. The royals held onto each other at the base of the quarterdeck, watching the dark hills of the Southern Isles mainland shrink in the wake of the  _ Northwind.  _ The ships of Weselton did not move.

“It’s over,” Anna whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for the fight sequences:
> 
>   * “I am Iron Man” - Crown Prince Thomas of Arendelle
>   * “Kneel, before your queen” - Queen Elsa of Arendelle
> 



	24. Nothing Left to Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: “Last Rites”  
> [Michael Salvatori _et al_ – “Lost Light” ( _Destiny 2_ OST)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHcTPS8-n_I)

The hold was bitterly cold. The floor listed dangerously beneath Roderick’s feet. Deep groans reverberated through the wood and iron surrounding him: the complaints of the hull at its punishment by the ceaseless waves. His breath fogged in the air as he rubbed his arms for warmth.

He forced himself to raise his gaze to the grisly scene before him.

Bodies wearing green uniforms stained with red were laid out neatly on the floor. Twenty-three Royal Guards had fallen at the arrows and blades of Weselton. Twenty-three men and women who would never again see the light of day, the empty vessels that once held their souls preserved by Queen Elsa’s ice until they could receive their last rites on Arendellian soil. Roderick’s eyes traveled slowly over the row of pallid faces, each so serene in the stillness of death.

He had known each of them personally.

It had been three days since the  _ Northwind  _ left the bay of Athero. In that time, he saw little of the royal family. The normal banter of the sailors and members of the Guard had dried up entirely, and even the Admiral had taken to giving his commands in a quiet, somber tone instead of booming them out from the railing of the quarterdeck as was his wont. Back in the Southern Isles, every moment had been filled with a palpable tension; now, that heavy atmosphere was gone, replaced by an emptiness that echoed with mourning.

Roderick didn’t know which was worse.

The prisoner was gone as well. Marcus Everett had vanished in the chaos of battle, shackles and all. The assassin’s absence hadn’t been noticed until the frigate had already set sail, and by that point turning back to organize a search was unthinkable. Perhaps the assassin had stolen away aboard the enemy Man-of-War—or perhaps he had drowned when the Queen thawed the bay, dragged into the depths by the weight of his chains.

_ Either way, we got what we needed out of him,  _ Roderick mused grimly.

King Mathias had been dethroned, the Duke of Weselton killed. In the end, Marcus Everett had been just another pawn, and with his employers taken out of the picture, he was no longer a threat. Justice was complete, the royal family’s safety re-established.

But faced with twenty-three bodies of his comrades, it all felt so hollow.

The sound of slow footsteps behind him broke the Captain from his thoughts. He turned to find Prince Thomas moving toward him on unsteady feet. Roderick rushed forward, placing his hands on the prince’s shoulders just as a particularly large swell rocked the floor.

“What are you doing down here, Highness?” the Captain asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Same reason as you, I guess.” Thomas gaze was downcast, but kept flitting pointedly toward the floor behind Roderick.

“This place isn’t good for either of us, Thomas,” Roderick said with a sigh. Nonetheless, he stepped aside, letting Thomas draw abreast as they stared down at the fallen guards.

“This is all my fault,” the prince murmured. “Well, alright, not  _ all _ of it,” he amended as Roderick’s brow knitted reproachfully. “But… if I hadn’t given in to my hate, hadn’t come out here on this wild goose chase to kill Hans, these people would still be alive.”

“The duty of the Royal Guard is to lay down our lives in the service and protection of the royal family,” the Captain stated gently. “Each of us took our oaths with all of our hearts.” He regarded the side of Thomas’s face. “Nothing can change the past, Highness. Not even your magic. Our duty to the dead is to learn from our mistakes and honour their sacrifice.”

The prince tore his gaze from the floor, his eyes glistening with sorrow and frustration.

“And what about my father, Roderick? What lessons can I learn from his death? What  _ mistakes _ did I make to cause it?”

“You know you cannot blame yourself for your father’s death,” Roderick replied sternly. “But just because you weren’t the cause of the tragedy doesn’t mean there’s nothing to learn. There is a lesson in everything that’s happened since we left Arendelle, Thomas. It’s up to you to understand them for yourself. Come now.”

Roderick turned and began walking back toward the stairs. After a moment, he heard Thomas begin to follow. Soon, the prince drew parallel with him once more.

“How’s your aunt faring after all this?” the Captain asked in a lower voice.

“Anna is… she’s trying to convince me that she’s already put it behind her,” Thomas replied. After a pause, he added quietly, “I can hear her crying in her sleep, though.”

“And your mother?”

“I think she blames herself for everything. Father’s death most of all. Sometimes… sometimes I wonder if she blames me too.”

Roderick shook his head. “She doesn’t. Give her time.”

As they came to the foot of the stairs, Thomas stopped.

“How do you do it, Roderick?”

“Do what, Your Highness?”

“Put the past behind you?”

Roderick took a moment to think. He thought about his own father, whom he had barely known. He thought back to the funeral of Henrik’s father, remembering how the King of Arendelle had wept. He thought of the cold bodies lying behind them on the floor.

“I remember those who die for who they were, not for who they could have been,” he finally answered. “Regret is only useful when it serves as a reminder.”

The ship lurched again, and he planted his feet wide just as Thomas careened into him.

“I’m sick of this ship,” Thomas whispered bitterly.

Roderick took the prince by the arm and they began to ascend the narrow steps. He took one last look back over his shoulder into the gloom of the hold.

“Me too,” he said, more to himself than to the prince.

* * *

Thomas regarded himself in the floor-length mirror in his bedroom. His eyes moved up his polished boots and tight dress pants, over the layered collars of his black coat, waistcoat, and shirt, resting for a moment on his stark-white cravat before fixing onto his own slate-grey irises. He smoothed back his already meticulously-styled platinum hair before pulling on a pair of white satin gloves. He took one final look at himself and thought he had never seen anyone who looked quite so uncomfortable.

“It’s time, Your Highness.”

Kai’s voice was gentle, but the words weighed on the prince’s heart like an anchor. Thomas took a deep breath and nodded. As he stepped into the hallway, he tried to replace the image of the aged servant with one in which he was not wearing mourning colours.

During those dark days in the Southern Isles, a part of him had hoped beyond hope that everything would somehow go back to the way it had been if he could just make it home. The belief had kept him motivated through day after day of excruciating injury and terrible fear.

But now he was home, sleeping in his own bed, pampered by the castle staff, eating his favourite dishes in the dining hall… yet the pain of his father’s death had only deepened. The nights were the worst. Sometimes he almost wished he was back in the woods between Athero and Evan’s Bluff. At least then the fear had masked the gaping hole in his heart.

The halls of the castle were too quiet. Thomas heard Kai’s footsteps following a respectful distance behind him. He wanted the servant to ask him about his morning, or to inquire about the progress of his studies, or to report on the newest gossip among the nobles—anything to break the dreadful silence and help him pretend, if even for the briefest moment, that everything was alright.

Kai said nothing, and neither did Thomas.

The guards at the atrium opened the doors to the courtyard with practiced precision. A large carriage was waiting for him between the fountains, tethered to two towering horses. A second, smaller carriage drawn by a single horse sat further back.

_ The funeral coach. _

The winter’s sun shone feebly through cracks in the overcast sky. As he emerged into the open air, Thomas found his family waiting. Everyone was dressed in black except his mother, who wore a high-necked dress of the deepest purple. Elsa’s hair was arranged in an intricate coronet atop her head, her blue eyes peering out from behind a dense black veil. Her expression was calm, almost impassive, but Thomas knew the facade was as thin as spring ice.

“Sorry I’m late, Mother.”

“Let’s not keep them waiting.” The reply was gentle, but his mother didn’t meet his gaze.

Without another word, the Queen glided up in her skirts to join the carriageman at the reins. A guard opened the door to the cabin and Annabeth, Christopher, and Kristoff stepped inside one by one. Anna turned back and gave Thomas a delicate smile, extending her hand to help him into the carriage.

“Come on, Tom. It’ll be alright.”

Thomas took his aunt’s hand gratefully. As the carriage rumbled into motion, he heard the hooves of the escorting guards as they moved into formation around them. He peered out at the waters of the fjord over the edge of the stone bridge through the small window in the door, watching slabs of ice jostle each other atop the waves. When the view was blocked by the buildings of the town, he turned back to face his family.

His cousins had been treating him differently since his return from the Southern Isles. Annabeth was strangely reserved, never quite meeting his eyes in conversation; Christopher seemed almost wary of him, speaking as if treading on eggshells and with little of the humour that Thomas loved so much from him. Though his cousins had loved his father very much, Thomas knew they shared in only part of his own deep loss. The change in behaviour could not be attributed to mourning alone. He didn’t know how much his cousins knew of what happened in Athero, but he doubted his aunt had kept much from them. A dark part of him suspected Annabeth and Christopher feared him for what he had done in his rage.

He could bear the silence no longer.

“Anna, what was the funeral for your parents like?”

His aunt smiled sadly.

“It was a large funeral,” she answered in a soft voice. “All of the townspeople were invited. It was comforting, knowing that so many people cared. I didn’t feel so alone.”

By the way Anna’s voice trailed off, Thomas knew the memory was not a pleasant one despite her positive words. Suddenly, he realized something. A hard laugh escaped his lips. From her spot beside his aunt, Annabeth raised her eyebrows.

“What’s up, Tom?”

“I always did dread having to go to my first funeral.” The prince shook his head. “Just… didn’t think it would be for my own father.”

Annabeth and her mother stared back in wide-eyed silence. For a few breaths, there was nothing but the creaking of the carriage wheels. It was Christopher who spoke.

“That really is a bummer.”

Thomas and Christopher stared at each other for a moment. The prince began to chuckle. Christopher’s somber expression cracked hesitantly into a smile. Soon, he was laughing in return. Thomas only stopped when he ran out of air, gasping for breath with glistening eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, you got that right, Chris.”

A hubbub from outside the cabin had him redirecting his gaze back out the window. A crowd of townsfolk had gathered at a respectful distance around the royal procession. Many of them wore their own colours of mourning. Gradually, some of them began to approach the carriage. People from toddler boys teetering on unsteady feet to old wives bent double with age bowed and curtsied as they offered gifts of consolation to the Queen. Thomas heard Elsa’s gentle words of refusal muffled through the cabin wall. Though he couldn’t see her, he could picture exactly his mother’s regal poise and carefully neutral expression.

Thomas was suddenly grateful to be out of the eyes of the crowd. He imagined sitting in his mother’s place before the people of Arendelle as they offered their condolences. Indignation flared in his chest. These people hadn’t known his father as he had. How could they possibly think they could console him? He didn’t feel comforted by their sympathy, far from it. His grief could not be shared.

He turned back from the window to find Christopher studying him intently.

“Hey, Tom, you okay?”

“No,” Thomas replied quietly. He forced a smile. “But I will be.” He hated how hollow the words sounded.

The voices of the crowd faded away as the horses plodded on. The rumble of the carriage wheels echoed louder as they crossed the archway of the bridge between the town and the forest road beyond. Thomas had only been to the site of the royal burial grounds a handful of times to visit his grandparents’ gravestones, but he knew the area well: it was located atop a flat hill that overlooked the black sand beach where his father’s assassins had entered the kingdom.

Cobbled pavement gave way to rougher terrain, causing the cabin seats to wobble. Skeletal trees dusted with white encroached from both sides of the road, pale and lifeless under the grey sky.

It wasn’t long before they arrived in the clearing. The carriage rolled to a halt shortly after emerging from the trees. The door was opened by a guard, who stood to the side with her head bowed as the members of the royal family disembarked. Thomas could make out the head of the procession of townspeople following a ways behind them down the trail.

Ahead, the massive gravestones of past kings and queens dotted the emerald hillside. The prince knew them each by name, starting with Aren the First, the legendary man who had lead the first settlers to this land untold generations ago. The writing on Aren’s stone had been all but erased by wind and water, leaving only a vague imprint of his name. Thomas’s eyes followed the line of tombstones across the wide clearing, the inscriptions becoming clearer upon each subsequent monolith until his gaze settled on the familiar markers of his grandparents’ graves. Except the line no longer ended there.

Further up the hill stood a new stone in the shape of a teardrop, taller and narrower than those of his grandparents.  _ Henrik Ingouf _ was engraved across the base of the stone in sharp relief, easily legible even from across the field. As Thomas drew nearer, he saw a neat rectangular hole cut out of the ground in the shadow of the monolith.

By the time he caught up with his mother, they were halfway across the clearing. Elsa’s eyes were fixed on the simple white casket borne several paces ahead of them upon the shoulders of four Royal Guards. She turned and caught his gaze. Tears were welled in her eyes, but none fell. She took Thomas’s hand and squeezed tightly.

“Be strong, my little love.”

Thomas nodded mutely. His mother turned her head forward once more, but she kept holding onto his hand. He was glad.

Bishop Gregory was there to meet them, the bulk of the gravestone making him seem tiny beside it. Thomas was told the old priest had been the one who had conducted his mother’s coronation ceremony. The bishop leaned heavily on a polished wooden cane, but age had done little to dim his brightness in his eyes. Today, however, they shone with sorrow. Captain Roderick stood by the bishop’s side, his usual Guard’s uniform replaced by a simple dark overcoat, his usual military posture broken by a slight slump as he held his hands clasped at his waist.

At the other side of the gravestone stood two other figures. The taller of them was a narrow-faced man with dark hair and familiar grey eyes. The shorter was an older woman with silver-brown hair reaching her shoulders and dry skin that hugged her cheekbones tightly. Both were dressed in winter furs and travel clothes. Their faces triggered a vague sense of recognition in Thomas.

They were his uncle and grandmother on his father’s side.

Henrik had never spoken much about his family to Thomas. The prince knew his father had been a knight of some esteem in his home kingdom of Dunbroch before he married his mother, but the relatives on his father’s side had always been distant and estranged. They seldom visited Arendelle, and Thomas had never been to Dunbroch himself. He asked his mother about it once, and she had curtly explained that his father’s family did not approve of him wedding a sorceress. He never pushed for any further explanation.

As Thomas approached the casket-bearers, his father’s brother and mother caught his eye briefly before their gazes flitted uneasily to Elsa. His mother stopped a generous distance in front of them in a greeting curtsey.

“Thank you for coming, Ansel, Maria. I hope the roads were kind to you.”

Maria’s expression darkened. “It will take more than a little winter to keep me from my son’s funeral.” The woman spoke with a harsh accent.

Elsa, for her part, only nodded in reply. Anna’s side of the family had gathered around them now, and the Arendellian royals greeted the visitors from Dunbroch with tight-lipped smiles. The guards set the casket down gently beside the hole in the ground between them.

The procession of townsfolk were spreading out about the clearing before them. The guards moved to stand beside the royals, two on either side, facing toward the crowd with rigid postures. Soon the people had organized themselves into tight rows. The cemetery was large enough to fit the  _ Northwind  _ thrice over end to end, and there were enough bodies present to fill half of it. From his position on the hill, it looked to Thomas like the entire kingdom had come to attend the ceremony. As the crowd settled, the low rumble of their footsteps faded into silence, and soon there was nothing but the wind.

His mother let go of his hand as she stepped forward before the gathered audience. She took a long breath.

“People of Arendelle, we are gathered here today in memory of a good man. You knew him as your king, and to many of you, he was so much more. Henrik was many things. A friend, a mentor, a confidant. A husband. A father…”

With a tender voice that somehow carried to the end of the clearing, Elsa painted a loving picture of the former King of Arendelle. She spoke of his kindness and his penchant for self-sacrifice, but also of his righteous fire and unwavering moral compass. Thomas’s eyes stung as she described scenes of Henrik playing with him and his cousins from a time when they barely came up to his father’s knee.

Nonetheless, though the faces of the crowd were somber and downcast, none wept openly. Thomas knew that his father had never been as popular with the people as his mother was. At the outset, some had even publicly denounced the marriage with the protest that Henrik was of unbefitting rank to wed the Queen-Regnant of Arendelle. Though the sentiment was short-lived, as he grew older Thomas often wondered if it had left a lasting impression on his father. Though Henrik was boisterous and full of humour in the presence of his family, he had always been reserved in public, speaking only in formal tones and wearing only respectful smiles.

Thomas looked over the sea of faces before him. The embers of his indignant anger flared again. The people were sympathetic to their Queen’s loss, but few felt it themselves. None understood it like he did.

The prince was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice his mother had stopped talking until a new voice registered in his ears. From the accent he knew it to be the stranger who was his grandmother. The elderly woman had moved up parallel to his mother and was addressing the crowd directly.

“You are not my people, but Henrik was my son,” she stated simply. “Over the years, he and I have not always seen eye to eye. Arendelle and Dunbroch have become close allies, but Henrik and I only grew further apart.” Maria’s posture slumped. “It’s ironic. I always took it for granted that my son would outlive me. Now I have nothing but shame and regret. Thank you, Arendelle, for welcoming my son. He deserved better than he got.”

With that, Maria moved stiffly back to her remaining son’s side. Elsa turned away from the crowd to lay her hand on the lid of her husband’s casket.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered. Her lips trembled as she swallowed. Behind the veil, a single tear streaked down her cheek.

Anna stepped forward next, putting her hand over her sister’s upon the ivory wood.

“Rest in peace, Henrik. Thanks for everything.”

Roderick moved to stand at the head of the casket, his posture ramrod straight as he gazed down at the vessel containing the body of the King. His gloved hands were held at his sides in tight fists.

“The world was cruel to take you from us, Henrik. I should have… I wish I could have been there. I wish it had been me instead.” The Captain’s voice, usually so confident and stern, hitched in a sob as tears glimmered in his eyes. “Goodbye, old friend.”

For a long moment, Thomas watched the three stare down at his father’s casket. He didn’t remember making the decision to move his feet, but he saw himself stepping forward to join them. Tears blurred his vision as he placed his own hand onto the smooth, polished wood of the casket.

He pulled forth every memory he had of his father. His eyes, his smile, the way he bounced his leg when he was impatient… all of it blended together into the warm image of the man who had been a guiding light in his life from the very beginning. Thomas realized he, too, had taken his father’s life for granted—how could he not?

_ It isn’t supposed to be this way _ .

He tried to form words to describe his loss, but nothing came. He tried to give his final farewell, but his voice would not cooperate. As his tears dripped onto the casket, he found only one thing to say.

“I’m sorry I lost your sword, Father.”

He watched as his tears beaded on the white wood. Dimly, he heard Bishop Gregory begin the words of the Final Prayer.

_ “Eins og þú liggur í eilífum svefni _

_ Megi andinn leiða þig…” _

The prayer was an ancient tradition, said to be the same as the one spoken for Aren the First after his passing. Thomas had never heard it before, but he knew the meaning of the words. The ice stirred within him, agitated by his grief. His tears froze in translucent whorls of frost across his cheeks.

_ “Megi heimur þinn vera laus við skugga _

_ Megir þú finna frið í hvíld þinni…” _

He gazed once more out toward the assembled crowd. His people. His future subjects. He felt small and alone. He felt terrified of the future.

His eyes focused on his mother. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed behind her veil. As if sensing his gaze, Elsa’s eyes opened and met his own. The blue of her irises, so much like the colour of deepest ice, was not cold, but warm. Comforting. He felt the frost melt from his face as his mother continued to hold his gaze. A bit of the terror subsided.

“... Henrik Ingouf.”

The guards approached in unison. Thomas pulled his hand from the casket with great effort. The guards hoisted the vessel from the ground, lowering it with perfect accuracy into the open grave. There wasn’t a sound as it met the bottom.

Then the guards picked up shovels.

In Thomas’s mind, the first clump of black dirt met the top of the casket louder than any gunshot. It was followed by another. Then another. The cascade of soil filled his vision until it was his whole world. The white of the casket lid was quickly drowned out, but still he stared.

He stared until the hole was filled, locking his father in his final resting place. He heard the pounding of the distant waves below him, smelled the crisp winter air. He stared even as he heard the rumble of the townsfolk making their exodus from the cemetery behind him. He stared until the footsteps faded away.

He kept staring for a long time afterward.


	25. Epilogue

A knock on a heavy wooden door. The quiet creak of hinges.

“Your Majesty, how is he?”

A soft sniffle.

“Lord Belland, thank you for coming. I wished to inform the other advisors myself, but I just couldn’t face a crowd with this news. I… I know my uncle was a terrible man, but my love is stubborn and stupid. I beg your sympathy.”

“It’s alright, my Queen. I understand. You are performing most admirably, especially contending with all that terrible business surrounding your father.”

“Thank you, Belland. I don’t know what I would do without you.” A sniffle. A pause. “Hans Westergaard has perished of his wounds.”

“I am… so sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be. I have been assured the doctors gave more than their best effort.” Another sniffle. “Maybe it’s better this way. A relatively painless death instead of a lifetime of imprisonment.”

“Sound reasoning, Your Majesty.”

“I wish for the funeral to be a private affair.”

“That can certainly be arranged, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” A sigh. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to be left alone to mourn.”

“Of course. Accept my deepest condolences, Queen Iona.”

The click of a shutting door.

Silence.

A soft laugh.

“That was awfully theatrical.”

“I have to keep up appearances. Though I shouldn’t have to explain that to the former Spymaster.”

“So that’s it then? Hans Westergaard is dead?”

“Well, it’s not official until I send out these letters.” The sliding of a drawer. “Look, I even have one addressed to Queen Elsa.”

“Hmm.”

“Clean slate, new identity, new life. You’re a free man again, Uncle. What are you going to do now?” A sharp laugh. “On second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

A chuckle. “You’re not at all worried that I’ll tell people about your magic?”

“Word will get out sooner or later. Although I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speed up the process unnecessarily.”

A long pause.

“Thank you, Iona. I owe you.”

“I meant what I said in that throne room, Hans. I couldn’t just let my uncle die.”

“You're a good woman. The Southern Isles is lucky to have you on the throne.”

“Oh, I already know that. Now get out of here before someone starts seeing ghosts. ”

Another pause.

“One more thing. Can I have that letter?”

* * *

Fat droplets of half-frozen slush fell from the spotty grey sky, coating the cobblestones of the inner castle courtyard in a thick sheen of grey sleet. Thomas never liked the last snows of late spring. They were winter’s dying breath, lukewarm and feeble, making a damp and miserable mess of everything they touched. Thankfully, however, he was currently far too distracted by the sword being swung at his face to pay much attention to the dreary surroundings.

Thomas ducked narrowly under the blow, the wind of the blade’s passing rustling his hair. His assailant spun on her heel, keeping her momentum and continuing the attack with a cleaving downward strike. The prince redirected the blade with his own, causing his opponent’s swing to slash at empty air as he stepped lightly to the side. His opponent growled in frustration, blonde ponytail flying out behind her as she pivoted to strike again. This time as the sword swung down, Thomas dashed backward and clutched the air with his off hand. A narrow pillar of ice shot from the ground, catching the opponent’s blade in mid-air. Thomas stepped forward as his opponent tried in vain to pull her sword free, placing the blunted edge of his own practice weapon on the back of her neck.

“That’s three to nothing, Annabeth!” he announced. “Since we’re playing best out of five, I think that means I’ve already won.”

His older cousin angrily yanked her sword out of the ice with a shower of crystal shards.

“You cheated,” she huffed.

“Cheated?” Thomas feigned a look of offense. “Making me fight without my powers is like tying a hand behind my back!”

“Well, if only I had three arms, then maybe we’d be even,” Annabeth shot back. She pouted playfully. “Besides, you’re ruining my practice, Tom! I can’t be worrying about watching for your tricks when I go up against a real threat. It’ll make me slow.”

Thomas’s mischievous grin fell slightly. He wiped sleet from his shoulders.

“Anna, are you sure you want to join the Guard? Even after everything Roderick told you?”

Annabeth nodded determinedly. “I’m enlisting as soon as the call goes out.”

Thomas sighed theatrically. “You really want to be my babysitter that bad, huh?”

His cousin laughed, but her tone turned serious. “Thomas, this is about the security of the kingdom. After… after what happened to Uncle Henrik, I can’t just sit around anymore. I’ve found my calling.”

“Well, when you put it like that.” Thomas’s expression darkened. He paused for a breath. “I suppose I should thank you.” He cracked a small smile. “At least you’re sticking around. Unlike your brother.”

“Hey, lay off him! Chris found his calling, too.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Natural philosophy? What could possibly be so exciting about cataloguing the names of plants’ sexual organs?”

“ _Science_ , Tom. Stop living in the eighteenth century. You know, they’re talking about bottling up lightning and using it to power machines! Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

“Sounds like magic,” Thomas laughed. “Is that what Chris is going to England to study? How to trap lightning in a bottle?” 

Annabeth slapped him hard on the shoulder with a grin. “Well, maybe it’s time you stopped having a monopoly on magic, don’t you think?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Another voice sounded from the courtyard entrance.

“Ah, so _that’s_ where my practice swords went. I had my suspicions.” Roderick strode out of the castle, his polished boots squelching through the slush as he made his way toward the two royal cousins. “You really shouldn’t train with Thomas, Your Highness,” he told Annabeth teasingly. “You’ll pick up all his bad habits.”

“Bad habits! Everything I know, I learned from you, Captain,” Thomas retorted in mock-indignation.

“Lieutenant,” Roderick corrected sternly. “I report to Captain Anja now, remember that.” He turned back to Annabeth, smiling lopsidedly as he extended a hand. “You two really couldn’t have picked worse weather to do this in. Come on, let’s get you back inside.”

The princess shook her head, heedless of the mixture of sweat and melting snow seeping through her layers of clothing.

“No. Tom still owes me two matches,” she protested with a stamp of her foot.

“Fine by me,” Thomas said with a nonchalant shrug. “The cold doesn’t bother _me._ ”

The now-lieutenant folded his arms over his chest and chuckled. “I don’t envy whichever batch of trainees will have to contend with you, Annabeth Bjorgman. Very well, just make sure you return those swords in one piece.” Roderick turned smartly on his heel and strode back in the direction of the castle. “Oh, and Thomas!” he called over his shoulder. “Your mother wants to see you afterwards. Something about a game of chess.”

Thomas focused his attention back on his opponent, lazily twirling his practice sword before squaring his shoulders and sinking down into his ready stance.

“Show off,” Annabeth grumbled, blowing a tuft of hair out of her face. With shrill battle cry, she charged.

* * *

The opaque, dirt-stained tarp covering him smelled of earthen damp. The bare boards of the wagon bottom jolted over every bump in the mountain trail, each tremor sending an unpleasant rattle through his bones. His stomach lurched with motion sickness as he was thrown about in the blind dark. Nonetheless, Marcus Everett bared his teeth in a relieved grin.

He had spent the last three years in imprisonment, first captured in Corona by the Southern Isles Spymaster, then captured in Arendelle after he had finally been promised freedom. Three years of terrible, hollow uncertainty, where his life had been nothing more than a tool for some royal’s devious whims. Where every next day could easily have been his last.

When he saw the opportunity for escape, he launched himself at it like a drowning man at a piece of flotsam. The moment the soldiers of Weselton ambushed the Snow Queen’s forces on that frozen bay, he knew it would be his only chance, and he took it for all it was worth. The gunfire and the clashing of steel easily masked the jangling of his manacles. A narrow dagger nicked from one of the fallen soldiers proved sufficient to coerce the locking pins into freeing him from his bindings. It also came in handy for wrenching open one of the gunports of the Arendellian frigate and worming his way into the hold of the ship.

The week he spent stowed away aboard that frigate were the tensest days of his life. He pilfered water and grain when he could, just enough to keep himself alive. From the conversations he overheard from the crew, he discovered that he had been presumed lost, and he thanked whatever twisted gods held the threads of fate at that moment. Thus, he scurried like a bilge rat around the feet of his former captors, sticking to the shadows and seldom seeing the light of the sun.

He survived. But it would be a while yet before his gamble paid off.

The reasoning behind his plot was simple. If the Snow Queen was still searching for him, her own kingdom would be the last place she would think to look. It was a plan verging on insanity: hiding in plain sight right under the nose of the sorceress whose husband he had helped murder in cold blood, biding his time until he found a means to disappear for good.

It was just crazy enough to work.

The frigid northern winter was both a blessing and a curse. The short days and heavy snows made it easy for him to stay hidden and slip from dwelling to dwelling unnoticed. It also made every night a potential death sentence if he couldn’t find shelter. Fortunately, Marcus was an experienced thief, and he knew exactly how to take what he needed to survive without raising suspicion. A set of boots here, a winter coat there, a hundred little morsels of food from every which where, a handful of Crowns when the opportunity presented itself, and soon he was set for the next phase of his plan. He huddled in the corners of taverns to stay out of the elements during the day and slept on the floor of barns and stables at night. The coat helped him hide his disfigurement and avoid recognition. All of it was almost comforting in its wreched familiarity—this was how he had lived for much of his life, after all.

Winter was on its way out when he finally found his ticket out of Arendelle. It came in the form of a grizzled merchant selling fresh fertilizer for the coming growing season. Marcus shadowed the man until he finished selling his cargo, learning from eavesdropped conversations that he hailed from a neighboring kingdom called Dunbroch. The merchant didn’t bat an eye when Marcus approached one evening and handed him a handful of coins with a quiet request for transport out of Arendelle. The next morning, the former prisoner was well on his way out of town, curled up in the merchant’s empty wagon beneath a dirt-stained tarp.

By then, that night in the Southern Isles capital was over a hundred days behind him.

Eventually, the tarp was lifted a crack from the direction of the driver’s seat, revealing a sliver of the merchant’s bearded face.

“Oy, you can get up now. Nobody to see you out here.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but the discomfort of his battered joints quickly won out. He pulled the tarp off of him to reveal a clear late-morning sky. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light.

“You got a name?” the merchant asked through crooked teeth. His accent was guttural and unpleasant.

“Where are you taking me?” Marcus asked back, ignoring the question. The merchant scowled.

“Mama didn’t teach you manners, then?” the man remarked with a scowl. “Never gave me directions, so I’m going back to Dunbroch. Unless you got more coin on you, that’s where you’re going, too.”

Marcus did not have more coin, but he did have a knife. After a moment of consideration, he decided against using it.

“Fine. How long will we be on the road?”

“Usually about a week or so.” The man paused to spit a wad of phlegm off the side of the cart. “Lucky for you, I know a shortcut.”

“As long as I don’t starve before we get there.” Marcus turned away, sliding down to sit with his back supported by the edge of the cart.

“Ey, why were you being so sneaky-sneaky trying to leave Arendelle, huh? You some kind of criminal?”

The merchant cackled. Marcus remained silent. His hand played with the handle of the knife underneath the folds of his coat. Fortunately, the merchant seemed content to mutter incoherently under his breath instead of pressing the line of inquiry further.

They traveled in silence for a long time. By dusk of the second day, it was clear that the wagon-horse was no longer taking them along any paved path. The wheels of the cart creaked in complaint as they traversed increasingly uneven terrain. Marcus pushed himself up on his knees and looked forward over the merchant’s shoulder.

Drawing closer in front of the wagon was a dense forest of golden aspen. Though the dimming sky remained clear, a cloud of white fog had rolled in, obscuring his view of the depths of the wood.

“You’re taking this thing through there?” Marcus said incredulously. “The bloody wheels will come off before we get anywhere!”

“She’s tougher than she looks,” the merchant replied, patting his seat. “I made the trip before, we’ll be fine.”

Marcus watched the trees grow closer and tighter around them as the merchant urged his horse into the twilight wood. The fog was much thicker than it looked from afar, and soon he could barely see thirty metres in any direction. Eerie sounds drifted to his ears through the gloom, and his imagination evoked images of enraged bears and packs of ravenous wolves. He found himself clutching the edge of the wagon with his one hand, his heart leaping into his throat at every shadow.

“Maybe we should wait until morning so we can actually fucking see?” Marcus hissed.

“Are you the driver, or am I?” the merchant retorted flippantly.

It was the last thing he ever said.

The entire wagon shuddered as something flew out of the mist. Marcus leapt backward. A black spear-tip coated in fresh blood poked through the wooden planks of the driver’s seat. Another metre-long spear struck the side of the wagon as Marcus scurried across the bottom, trying to flatten his body as much as possible to stay out of the attackers’ sightlines.

The horse reared and screamed in terror. The cart cannoned forward as the animal broke into a reckless gallop. The wheels struck a root and for an instant, Marcus was weightless. His body slammed into the base of a tree with an impact that knocked the air from his lungs. The cart flipped end over end, the reins finally snapping from the strain and freeing the horse to bolt into the night. One of the wheels came free and landed with a thud near Marcus’s feet.

Gasping for breath, Marcus could only watch as figures emerged from the fog around him, each leveling wicked spears akin to the one that had impaled the merchant. He pulled the knife from his belt, holding it in front of him in a trembling hand as he shrank against the trunk of the tree.

The attackers wore simple grey tunics and coats of animal pelt. Their skin was a deep tone of olive, their dark eyes gleaming with deadly anger beneath locks of raven-black hair. They yelled at him in a language he did not understand.

“No, please!” Marcus cried, dropping the knife to the ground. “I’m not your enemy! I didn’t want to come here!”

The attackers closed in relentlessly. The points of black spear-tips tickled his chest.

 _Not attackers,_ he realized faintly through his rising panic. _Defenders._

“Who are you?” he shouted desperately.

To his surprise, the two warriors directly facing him stepped aside. Behind them stood an aged woman, her white hair in stark contrast to the black of the younger men and women around her. Her posture belied authority, her angular face seeming expressly made for the communication of detached contempt. Unlike the others, she did not hold a spear in her hands, but instead clutched a gnarled staff of white wood tipped with a strange light source that Marcus could not identify.

“We are Northuldra,” the elder spoke. “You trespass, Arendellian.”

* * *

Kai walked down a hallway in the royal wing of the Arendelle castle, drinking in the familiar surroundings with a fond smile. Portraits of rulers past looked down on him from their perches upon the walls as he passed below them, resplendent and frozen in time. The chamberlain of nearly five decades stopped momentarily under the paintings of King Agnar and Queen Iduna, bowing his head in respect. The smile fell from his face as he came upon the portrait of Henrik, the colours still vibrant from its relative newness even beneath the fine mourning veil currently draped over the frame. He scraped a droplet of congealed candle wax from the small stand situated under it with a sigh—must have splashed out of the dish.

It was tradition to leave the portrait veiled for a full year after a monarch’s passing. For Kai, that meant he wouldn’t be the one to take down the veil this time around. After forty-eight years of service under the royal family of Arendelle, he was retiring. His wife, who had served for even longer than Kai had, was retiring with him. Despite the ceaseless invitations from the royal family for them to stay in the castle, they had made the joint decision to use part of their savings to purchase a small property in the countryside. Having helped raise two generations of royal children, they never had children of their own, but Gerda convinced him to adopt a child from the orphanage. There was one thing that Gerda was adamant on: the child was to be a girl.

Perhaps two girls, so the children could be sisters.

He had already bid Anna’s family farewell. The younger of the royal sisters had barely been able to get out her goodbyes through her tears, but Kai knew they were more tears of joy than sadness. She had made him promise to visit the castle at least once every week, and as unrealistic as that was, he hadn’t had the heart to refuse. He never did with Anna, not since the day she first learned to speak.

He reached the door of the royal study and knocked gently. There was no response. He tried again more firmly.

“Queen Elsa?” he called.

He was met with silence. He eased the door open to find the room beyond empty. He frowned, bemused. He knew Elsa’s schedule like the back of his hand, and it was strange for her to not be at her desk at the current hour.

He closed the door and walked further down the hallway, past the door to Anna’s childhood bedroom, which had long since been converted into a bedroom for Kristoff and her children—at least before they, too, had moved out. Further down the hallway on the opposite side stood a similar door of dense white wood embellished with diamond patterns of blue and teal. Elsa’s old bedroom. Unlike her sister, the Queen never fully abandoned her childhood quarters. Instead, she kept it for use it as a secondary study. Having taken care of Elsa since she was a baby (and he still had a full head of hair), Kai knew that despite all her social graces, the Queen was an introvert at heart. The room provided her the space she needed to be alone with her own thoughts.

If Elsa wasn’t in her study, she was likely in her sanctuary.

He moved to knock on the door, but found it already ajar. Poking his head in, he found this room as empty as the last. A stack of documents lay neatly spread out on the bureau. An open fountain pen sat at the foot of the chair, looking like it had recently rolled off the sloped surface of the desk. The chair itself was pushed back at a wide angle, as if the occupant had left in a hurry.

A soft breeze caressed Kai’s cheek, blowing from somewhere further down the hall. He backed out of Elsa’s room and ventured around the corner in search of the source of the draught. The balcony doors were wide open. Curtains fluttered in the wind, lit from behind by the warm light of a summer afternoon. As the chamberlain approached, he found several members of the Royal Advisory Committee holding a meeting in the conference chamber opposite the balcony. However, a quick scan of those present at the table confirmed Kai’s suspicions: the Queen was not among them, either.

That left only the balcony itself.

He stepped slowly into the open air. The summer breeze filled his lungs, pleasantly fresh and warm. Arendelle fjord lay spread out before him, its deep blue waters twinkling in the clear sunlight. At the edge of the balcony stood the Queen of Arendelle. She was facing away from him, leaning on the railing in front of her. She was clad in a flowing summer dress of creamy ivory that left her shoulders bare, and her hair was draped across the back of her neck in its usual French braid. Kai could see her tensed muscles bunched under the fair skin of her back.

“Your Majesty?” he called.

“Oh!” Elsa exclaimed, flinching.

Kai felt a cold gust of wind at the same time as he heard a crackling of ice. He bit back a chuckle as the Queen struggled to pull her hands free of the masses of ice that had frozen them to the railing.

“Excuse me!” Elsa laughed sheepishly as she finally yanked her hands back. “What can I do for you, Kai?” The Queen’s gaze seemed distant, distracted. Abruptly, her eyes widened. “Wait, this is your last day, isn’t it! I’m so sorry, I should have-”

“It’s quite alright, Your Majesty.” This time Kai didn’t stop the laughter from bursting out. “I just came to say goodbye.”

A bittersweet smile touched the Queen’s lips. “Please, just Elsa from now on.”

“If you insist, Your… Elsa.”

Elsa’s smile broadened as she shook her head good-naturedly. “What am I going to do without you, Kai?” She took his hand. “Walk with me, I’ll take you down to the courtyard.”

“I’m sure I can find-”

“Kai?” Elsa’s eyes twinkled. “Please. I insist.”

Kai nodded with a smile of his own. They started back toward the castle in step, his age-calloused fingers dwarfing hers as they walked hand in hand.

Right as they crossed the threshold, Elsa froze. Her hand gripped Kai’s tightly as she whirled back in the direction of the balcony. Kai shot her a confused look, but found only the back of her head. Elsa was staring towards the fjord, her very being seeming to vibrate with unseen tension.

“Do you hear that?” she murmured in a trance.

“What?” Kai’s brow furrowed as he strained his ears. Apart from the gentle wash of the wind, he could discern nothing.

Elsa shook herself. She turned to face Kai with an apologetic smile.

“Nevermind.”

But the furrow in the chamberlain’s brow only deepened, for a shard of glowing white shone embedded in the icy blue of the Queen’s left iris.

* * *

* * *

**DRAMATIS PERSONAE**

(Characters in **bold** are property of Disney)

_The Royal Family of Arendelle_

| **Elsa of Arendelle, Queen-Regnant  
** | Henrik Ingouf, King-Consort _(deceased)  
_ | | Thomas of Arendelle, Crown Prince  
|  
| **Anna of Arendelle, Princess** **  
**| **Kristoff Bjorgman, Ice Master and Deliverer  
** | | Christopher Bjorgman, Princess   
| | Annabeth Bjorgman, Prince  
|  
| **Sven, reindeer  
** | **Grand Pabbie, ancient troll**   
| **Bulda, troll  
** |   
| **Olaf, snowman** _(deceased)  
_ | Sir Gingivere, golem of ice _(destroyed)_

_… and their friends_

| **Kai, Chamberlain** **  
**| **Gerda, servant  
** | **Gregory, Bishop** **  
**| Norman Edwards, Captain of the Royal Ship  
|   
| Felix, Admiral of the Royal Navy  
| Roderick, Captain of the Royal Guard _(demoted to Lieutenant)_   
| Anja, Lieutenant in the Royal Guard _(promoted to Captain)_

****_The Royal Family of Corona_

| **Rapunzel of Corona, Queen-Regnant  
** | **Eugene Fitzherbert, King-Consort** **  
**| | Warner Fitzherbert, Crown Prince  
|  
| **Pascal, chameleon**

_The Duchy of Weselton_

| **Rudolph, Sovereign Duke** _(deceased)_ _  
_ | Gilbert, Steward  
|  
| Klaus, Governor  
| Leon, Commander _(deceased)  
_ | Erica, Countess  
| Barton, Financial Advisor   
| Kellin, Knight

_The Royal Family of the Southern Isles_

| Mathias Westergaard, King-Regnant _(abdicated)  
_ | | Iona Westergaard, Crown Princess _(Queen-Regnant)  
_ | Joseph Westergaard, Admiral of the Imperial Navy   
| **Hans Westergaard, Spymaster** _(presumed deceased)  
_ | _… and 10 other brothers_

_… and their friends_

| Kurt Weiss, Military Advisor  
| Belland, Lord  
|  
| Albricht, guardsman

_The Kingdom of Dunbroch_

| Maria Ingouf  
| | Ansel Ingouf

_and the mysterious_

Marcus Everett, hired blade

**Author's Note:**

> I did it. I actually did it. Six years in the making, and it’s finally over.
> 
> Thanks for sharing this experience with me. My motivation to start a fic comes from the source material, but my motivation to finish it comes from your views, favourites, and reviews. I couldn’t have done this without you.  
> Now that the story is finished, if you’re so inclined please feel free to leave a review of anything and everything that stood out to you. I want to know what worked and what didn’t, what was clever and what was clumsy. Also, if you have any questions, ask away in the reviews section or shoot me a PM.
> 
> Until next time…
> 
>  _Keep going North._  
>  – Azimuth Zero


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